homesick

it is at night
while, sitting on a couch
a green one, with two pillows
clad with the mysterious patterns
of lost civilizations;
that I feel,
downwardly and upwardly
homesick,
yearning for a home that doesn't exist
spirit tells me there is perfection
So I imagine what rhythm a pure heart beats to,
I hear the soft beating
somewhere,
far off
and then it fades,
only to beat again but fainter
and fainter still
and I begin to sigh, but over my breath
I cannot hear the beating heart
and so I hold the air with the palms of my hands
and slowly feel a change
and then the feeling of suffucating overwhelms
the desire to hear the heart, beat so smoothly
so perfectly
that I release,
and I blow the heart away, as if it where a feather
and the feeling lives,
homesick
without a home