As much as I find formation,
In the Ivory tower that surrounds me,
There is something missing,
Begging for completion in this equation,
It is a longing for familiar arms and body
For me to embrace,
And the comfort of love in the flesh
Made closer to my being,
It is a need for the very souls that drive me in my seeking,
It is an irony of needing to leave to find what is most needed
Is what was left behind,
I knew this already,
But it is the felt notion that brings this to brightest light,
In missing home.
Missing Home
She of Letters 