In my room, where is that?
In my room, the room in my head, there is home
and wilderness, unexplored and unending, never tame.
All the wild places I have been, or seen, or heard of
or imagine. It’s a wonder that I can speak at all
words in the daily day, after wandering the wilds.
Why does anyone ever come back?

Why does anyone ever come back?

Except to explore other rooms and add them to ours.
I listen to the Brahams Requiem, a painting in orchestra and voice,
of his room, his wilderness, his despair and joy.
I am glad to come back for this and others like him.

That is why anyone comes back.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: in my room.