We're stuffed with silver
Linings.
Clouds; the damp, heavy ones,
Sink into our souls, and we're
Tired.
It's something in the
Way you move, and
It's so beautiful, like your
Warm smiles, it lights
Up my world.
Gold, gold, gold,
Beautifully fragile, an
Elastic mixture of
Your heart and my
Strings; we're
A violin.
They say the silver
Linings lead us to our
Future, but they led
Me to you,
And you're nothing but
A haunted memory from
My history.
Harmony is when two
Unwitting souls melt
And mold into one
Cast; a
Puppet in the making.
You'll dance and I'll
Watch, your gleeful face
Burning in my eyes, and
I'll wish for such moments
To last forever
When I'm old and white, and
Both my feet in the grave,
Your presence will calm me
In my final, gasping
Breaths.
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. ...
