Arcanum Rune

A house is wood and stone and glass,
A shell for shadows as they pass,
A structure set against the gale,
Where walls are sturdy, floors are stale.

But Home is where the pulse slows down,
A silence shared away from town,
The scent of rain on heated brick,
The candle flame, the steady wick.

It is the ache, the quiet strain,
To find a window through the rain,
A hearth that holds a golden light,
Against the vast and hollow night.

For every soul is drawn to rest,
Like weary birds within a nest;
Though houses rise on every ground,
Home is where the heart is found.

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