The road home...

Most of my conversations are one sided

Because they take place in my head.

Arguments, especially, are best fought in this manner. 

I question myself a little,

But give too much in return.

Far more than I would an outward foe.

My victories are mighty 

And my glory is known far and wide.

At least in the villages and towns of my mind.

But every so often,

Usually around the holidays,

I find myself confronted 

Not with hostility

But with truth.

I find myself occasioned with questions of my youth;

Of temperament and frame-of-mind;

Of decisions made, inwardly and outwardly.

I am forced to collect my thoughts, 

Gathering troubadours to recount stories of my journey.

I hide neither the honor nor the failings,

Knowing that my audience is not swayed by banter.

By bravado.

By bullshit. 

They seek truth.

Thus I know I'm home. 

I am with those who know me best.

More deeply than the outside world.

I am surrounded by those for whom a line does not exist,

Whose curt words slice bullshit off the top layer by mere existence.

Gone are the yes-men and the underlings, 

The bosses and the critics,

The baristas and the concierge.

Now, there is truth.

Transparency to the over-indulgent me who's been cascading the terrain seeking answers 

Like a chameleon.

Now, there is clarity. 

To the muse behind my actions.

To the benchmarks along my path.

To the goals of days ahead.

Now, there is motivation.

To stay the course with resolute sword

While maintaining faith

And an open mind

For nothing is known in future time. 

Most importantly, there is a renewed sense of myself.

Of the makeup of my fiber.

Of the opportunities ahead.

Of the common bonds of man;

Who must all wield the battleaxe of war;

Who must rise to the occasion;

And forge the road ahead. 

Suddenly, I find that I am home.