How is it that I long,
No, yearn,
For a place I've never been,
Never seen,
Never touched
My toes to its land?

How is it that I pine,
No, crave,
For a home I've never lived in,
Never sat down in,
Never woke up
From peaceful slumber in?

How is it that possible?
To be so full of feeling
For that which I have only ever imagined:

Home where tranquility prevails;
Home where joviality reigns;
Home where love utter saturates.

Home where
My hands know their crafting dexterity,
My feet know their dancing steps.

Home where my heart beats.

How is this feeling more real
Than that which I have lived through?
For it is;
This longing tells me it is;
This yearning proves to me it is;
This craving solidifies its existence.

I want the intangible to become tangible.
I need the imaginary to be reality.