You say bring what you must,

We all name items and nod heads.

Simple.Form the materialistic bullet points in theHopes of solace.Put yourself there,In those instant moments.Walk into the illusion of peace and relaxation, The faces become numbered.We sink into the cold world losing ourselves. Divulge into the greatest literature,Find who you are, Only to now miss what you had.Let your mind paint the imagination of the words you read,Ignoring the unbearable truth. Stranded. Lost. Uncertain. Soak in the sun with a smooth layer of liquid protection.Pictures of paradise.Nothing can settle your screeching thoughts.No amount of sunshine,No culmination of sentences or stories form any piece of comfort.   You try to weave what's left of your conscience, Yearning not only for the faces but the noise they created.The chaos seemed so abrasive at the time.But it now is the only thought that feels like home. Ask me the single idea, emotion, person I cannot bear to survive without.Dare me to push my boundaries.It's an idea, nothing too complex. Hope. When you have nothing There is that single flame inside reaching for your soul.It calls me back, A familiar voice pulls from the darkness.The brightness grows brighter,Illuminating the writing on the mailbox.I read it, "Home."