Poetry of thought

Hiraeth

The back of my head is walled off.
I can't touch the pictures it hides.
Briefly, just briefly one may slip through.
But I feel its just a disguise.

I try to look through the cracks,
But the blank slate panics me.
Thoughts are just ideas.
Things I can not see.

What if more walls are built?
This time in the front.
Then any way I turn
It's only myself to confront.

How can I fix this?
Should I even try?
Do I have to live with this now?
Could it even be a lie?

My pattern and rythym are gone.
Ive spent so much time away.
But if I can't see through that wall,
How do I learn to stay?