❒Tired
So, so tired
Fighting for a life
I don't think I have
Times is running out,
Out of my backdoor.
I fallow it, phasing
Thought wooden fences,
Ghosting thought neighbor's houses
All the way down home.
Home that was more than a home, than
A home will ever be.
Forest, a patch of grass.
Home, alive, so alive.
Now, I'm resting though your arms,
Home never felt so good again.
But sadly, that home is ashes now.
-You were once my home, love you.
YOU ARE READING
Stranger Tales
PoetryI've spent my old days making up pretty stories. I was a sailor navigating the oceans of sorrow of a heartbreak; stranger tales tells the reader about sorrows turned into poetry and how those experiences change my perspective of seeing love. In my c...
