Californian Heim

Maybe he was just a window,

That lead to a door.

A door I needed to knock on,

When I realized he was just a window.

. . .

As I knocked on the door,

It opened to a vast field,

Where a sun shone with rays of opportunity.

Opportunity I wouldn’t have know, had I not knocked on the door.

. . .

Heim means “home” in German.

A pseudonym I thought I’d use for him.

A spicy, sweet, Californian treat,

My heart wanted him “Heim” again.

. . .

But he was only the window,

He wasn’t the door.

I thought, but I was wrong,

He wasn’t the heim I was looking for.

. . .

Tucked away in the deep trenches of my soul,

There laid to rest the impossible dream.

Me? A pastor? Is that who you created me to be?

Tucked away in the deep trenches of my soul.

. . .

And then I found it! What I didn’t think existed.

The seminary of my soul that preaches not to its own, but to the twisted.

I jump through the window, and run through the door,

Into what I didn’t think existed.

. . .

A Fuller life is one I desire,

A Californian “Heim” to call home.

Though my travels there will be spare and sparse,

Into the Fuller life is where I will roam.

. . .

Anaheim pepper is what I was referring to,

When I cut his pseudonym short.

Anaheim California boy with a peppery blend,

My “Heim”, I thought would be home until the end.

. . .

But now I see where the truth really lies,

The man is not the home, but the place where he flies.

Maybe he was just a window God used to get me to the door,

That would open into the life He created me for.

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