Looking for Home

I know that technically it’s good
I’m doing everything that I know I should.

Every line I write has a message, at least a meaning
And my poems are starting to display a political leaning,

But I still fell that there’s a lot more to gain
Rhymes are fun but being unfulfilled always leads to refrain.

Do I keep going on my new direction,
Or heal my sprit from its obvious infection?

Time will tell if I majestically start soul spilling
Or if my writing is just a way of time killing,

But for now my nimble finger keep typing
Even if I can’t locate a cause to start sniping.

Maybe someday what I feel will make it into a poem.

But right now my heart’s too busy looking for its home