Coming Home

As the mind wanders and night rises
I find myself uneasy
A string of perpetual sorrow
Reveling in past glory and misery
As if my present life
Belongs to the ceiling and the walls
Of the room I once explored
Love and life as a teenager
What simple treasures long past
And yet I hold tight
When the silky cloud of my past
Seeps and dwells beneath my skin
Red bumps and stress rise
Lacking release and a strong mind
For which I feel chained and unbroken
Treading the rain that resembles all I have left and forgotten.
 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Related entries

The Book is Being Written

How we observe and how we reflect.

The Dreary Faceless

The observations and reflections of a traveller in a foreign land.

The Model House

The facades of a perfect home.

The Woman Who

This peom is about a woman in my life, who is suppose to be there for me but is not.

IdEgo

Dreams, desires, id and ego.