Any Bed Except This One

i imagine aromas of spring blossoms blooming
several miles away from my house
but here i smell nothing aside from the looming
shadows of longing and flowers of doubt

without a solution seen sparkling in sight
no prize for the eyes of the self proclaimed optimist
no refuge, no shelter, no place of respite
despising the lack of with whom i can talk of this

The Spirit surrounds me, of this i am certain
though It feels as if hidden behind a thick curtain
It calls to me silently, a voice yet unheard

absurd, this belief certainly seems to many
my faith in the unseen and often unfelt
but i cannot deny that i haven’t had any
experience or help with the troubles i’ve dealt

with for my whole life, so varied and plenty
mountains of strife, each carried for twenty
years and then more

the fears at my core
of loneliness stare
at me evermore,
strip my psyche bare

the optimist shatters, true colors revealed
now nothing matters, cynicist unconcealed

please help me find somewhere that i can call home
no, not this house, not this room or this bed
just some simple world where i won’t be alone
before these dead walls consume me instead