The Search
Regina Puckett
This place made of wood is not my home
My heart has numerous hallways to roam
It seeks out truth, hope and compassion
Trying desperately not to lose its passion
Running headlong into brick wall after brick wall
No matter which way I turn no one hears my call
Has love, pity and empathy withered away and died
Has everything good and true been shoved aside
With this sledge hammer I’ll begin my journey anew
Knocking down every barrier in this search for what is true