To my holy lover,
A name I call your shadow when I am sober.
Your walls hold us apart
Yet I climb regardless with a heavy heart.
Is that a grin I see on her face?
Then why does she hide behind them these walls?
She keeps herself in her shrine yet wants to be freed, to be loved.
I clad as a monk and tried to harbour her temple
I spoke her a psalm of love
Yet she rebuked!
But I swore and I dare saw the butterflies in her eyes.
A sinner I am,unholy I was born
Yet righteous is my love
And it burns down from the depths of my soul to the very hairs on my skin
I see the flame on her lips
So I did what I had to and so...
I tasted it.
And watch as we consume in this inferno.
Yet she rebuked and fled!
One with legs should run to my righteous lover,
And give her my crenated heart.
And tell her it burnt for her
And even as it withered into ashes,
Tell her that there's still a flame in it and it consumes for her.
And even in death when the earth has swallowed me up,
I shall forever crenate for my holy lover,
Till eternity I shall burn for her and so,
She must return, and burn as well.
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...
