Home is where the heart is,
but a tortured heart that dreams of home
holds for ransom the love inside
and all thoughts of happiness subside.

The heart asks for what I cannot give,
and in all its pulsing patience,
which one of us will outlive
this awkward cadence?

Home is where the heart is,
so as I board the plane
on a return flight 'home'
I left my heart and home behind.