Poetry

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Home, for me, is still home,
   though I'm still not there.
Though in this world I will roam
   Home is home of my care.  
Home is there, though I can't see,
   though it's beyond my sight.
Home is true, apart from me,
   residence of One who's right.
Home is home because of rest,
   the need of my longing soul.
The end of His plan that is best,
   surrounded with streets of gold.
I know where is my home,
   for I know the Way.
His name is key, He's on the throne,
   this Jesus, Whom I pray.
When this colored world is fully gray
   deep within my heart,
      I will go to Home to stay,
         to Love that did not part.

And I will know, as I am known,
   answering a question unfathomed,
      when I rest at the foot of that Throne,
         Truth, the heart of its kingdom.

We all have a place to go
   whenever our heart will stop.
This is truth that we all know,
   just as we know our heart.
Yet we all can make a choice
   where we wish to be.
Just call out with your heart's voice,
   believe and you will see.

Call upon the Name of that king,
   with scars and wounds for ransom.
Praise that Son, in worship sing,
   prompted by unearthly wisdom.
And you will know, as you are known,
   answering a question unfathomed,
      when you rest at the foot of the Throne,
         in the heart of Jesus' kingdom.

© 1-19-2011

Note: I call this "Home, 2011" because I have another poem called "Home" here, written a few years back. One can see between the two that their perspectives are different, which only means I am different from a few years ago.

However, Home remains the same.

Based on: Philippians 3:20-21

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