solace of home

There are a lot of words
Written today, lived out
In the confines en suite,
Where it seems we all
Are tired of isolating.
As a true introvert,
I write in wanton defense
Of the solace of home.
Why would any desire
Be outside of here?
And by here I mean
The center of everything
Most important to me.
The place the pebble drops,
Creating concentric rings.
I’ve stayed in the center
For quite a time now.
I haven’t wandered far,
But I have wondered widely.
What now finally awaits?
So through the front door,
Out to question the world,
I pass into each and every ring.
All who wonder are not lost
To the solace of home.