daylight. the end of a revolt. cold sunlight.
meaning, this is finally over.
meaning, i search for warmth and i do not find it.
blood on the ground but weapons, clean.
meaning, it was over before it started.
voices.
they talk to me. the people with no faces. all i see is tongues.
tongues, that have blades
that have tongues.
they tell you stories of the deceased
that held back words
for the blood of love
that bleeds hate.
they leave. they tell me i can, too.
nothingness, again.
how do eyes hide what they see?
but there is no one to answer.
perhaps this question doesn't need one.
they said it is over. that it is time to heal. so i let it begin. but there are eyes, again.
“eyes, eyes, eyes……” i hear.
is this healing?
“eyes.”
thorns grow out of my heart.
can roots give life to endless misery?
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth: A Collection of Poems
PoetryHiraeth: a Welsh concept of longing for home. A type of homesickness, but for a home that you can't return to, or one that perhaps never existed. Aren't we all looking for home?
