See how the winds
Blow my
Ashes around
The grave of my
Lost
Dreams.
Burn, burn, burn,
Wood and clay,
Leather and ropes,
Begin to fray.
I see the people
Milling around
Pretending to
Help.
And I feel
Like they
Incense the
Pyre.
Gone are
The meaningless
Words
They wrote
To offer
Fake comfort.
Upon stone
Mountains my
Heart shall rest.
To each their
Own,
And maybe,
I know myself
Best.
.......
So this is the first time I'm writing a free verse, I actually don't know how to feel about this.....
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
PoetryHIRAETH- (n.) A homesickness for a place you can never return to, a place which never was. Previously: Songs Of My Lonely Soul. *** A Song Of My Lonely Soul. A Ballad Of My Heart Whole. A Story That Was Never Said. When We Find It To Be Dead. ...
