Meraki, I mutter as we gaze
The constellations upon the heavens
Of life, has it been a waste?
To the Gods, of the sailing seven

The soul, creativity
Love placed into something
The essence of yourself
Placed into your eyes

Right now though
Hiraeth takes over
The undeniably sick feeling
Of lonesomeness and one

Deep, wistful longing
Nostalgic sense of longing
A place of hope no longer
Perhaps never was