So you want to smoke
Your life away?
Stuff your pipe with all the
Right things; things that
Matter, things that will
Last.
Cold winds and icy
Fingertips; the ecstasy of
A long lost love returning
Back to you; not to you,
Not to you.
Instead, he goes to where
Little infinite shards of you
Used to be, where he would
Kill himself everyday because
You were so toxic.
Ailment; cure your love, you
Hopeless vagabond, you have
Destroyed the very chasms of
Himself to the extent that
He...
Has drowned in himself.
Sing him to sleep, if he ventures
Closer to you; your retribution,
And tell him about the days
You wished he would come,
But you considered it just to
Be another one of your
Pipe dreams.
..
Something different today.
Af.
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. ...
