well, we're thirteen
and destructive.
we're terrified
and running, running
away from the
truth of who we think
we will be.
well, we're scared
and lonely and we
are children of midnight
skies and cold breezes,
and then we are frozen
in the race to be
the best.
well, we're lost now,
and hey, please come to
get us, take us home,
we need you to find it
for us, even though you're
no older, no better than
us, but you are still
very much
human.
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. ...
