Here I am
Twisting and turning my quill ,
Hoping fate could bend to my will.
I write as though I uproot a grave,
I am here because its another glance I crave.
I shamlessly wear these gloves to hide my evidence,
I just want to grasp the soils and see the sight of my forbidden, the hunger is that dense.
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
PoetryA man of distress, With eyes denied of sleep at night. Yet his mind wanders dreaming in the day. Such a cycle driven by a deep longing, a hunger, and love for a woman. Hence, a compilation of his persistent and intrusive thoughts of her... His Hira...
