Tuesday, August 23, 2005


What are emotions,
but feeling of winds on our skin.
One moment they comfort,
and in another, they're gone.
And yet we persevere,
as climbers of this 'glorious' mountain,
as though conquerers of a great quest,
only to find ourselves confused at the peak.
From love to hate,
from joy to sorrow.
Everything seems too late,
Yet our journey is so slow.
As travellers we travel this winding path,
with emotional hearts as our compasses.
But our hearts are like wind,
taking us further from our destinations.
Yet with every great quest,
there's always a treasure, always a goal.
And only when we ask where to go,
will we find our way back home.
Ah, home sweet home,
nothing more comforting, nothing more satisfying.
Sweat as we may, and toil we shall,
but let us not stop till we're back home.
My home is heaven,
nothing less, nothing more.
To stop walking would be stupidity,
and yet to die trying is the only way.
May we continually open our ears,
to the cry that seem so distant.
The call of heaven to go home,
ah, home sweet home.
Let's gather the nations,
from the east to the west.
Let's join the cry of our pilgrimage,
the cry of our hearts.
Heaven is in my heart,
and heaven is my home.
Jesus is my lover,
and I'm his, forever.

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