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HJohnson
18/M
Poems2
Words130
I am from grey skies and blue clouds, I am from a hundred different houses and not a single home, I am from a drunken smile plastered over loss of future and hope, I am from a fake smile hiding a cruel smirk, I am from Fire and Brimstone turned to cowardice and weakness, I’m from the cross turned to the hammer, Prayer into an angry chant to forgotten Gods, I’m from a dozen dead memories of a dozen dead people, I’m from a pickup truck covered in beer stains, From packs of young men angry at the world lead by old men that are sad at the world, I am from fistfights fought to the sound of marching songs, From young men singing the anthems to countries and kings long gone, I’m from the kicks to the ribs and harsh words telling me to get moving, From boys dreaming about knights in shining armour as we shave our heads, I am from angry curses in a handful of different languages, From blue collars, ACU’s, leather jackets and stomping boots, From old Russian grandmas giving half a dozen boys lunches as if we were her own grandsons, I am from Jackboots and broken teeth and a bitten curb, I'm from coffee and old bookshops, I am from a home that doesn't remember me anymore.
0
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
From?
I am from grey skies and blue clouds, I am from a hundred different houses and not a single home, I am from a drunken smile plastered over loss of future and hope, I am from a fake smile hiding a cruel smirk, I am from Fire and Brimstone turned to cowardice and weakness, I’m from the cross turned to the hammer, Prayer into an angry chant to forgotten Gods, I’m from a dozen dead memories of a dozen dead people, I’m from a pickup truck covered in beer stains, From packs of young men angry at the world lead by old men that are sad at the world, I am from fistfights fought to the sound of marching songs, From young men singing the anthems to countries and kings long gone, I’m from the kicks to the ribs and harsh words telling me to get moving, From boys dreaming about knights in shining armour as we shave our heads, I am from angry curses in a handful of different languages, From blue collars, ACU’s, leather jackets and stomping boots, From old Russian grandmas giving half a dozen boys lunches as if we were her own grandsons, I am from Jackboots and broken teeth and a bitten curb, I'm from coffee and old bookshops, I am from a home that doesn't remember me anymore.
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19
Home is where the Soul is. Shores long gone A distant home I have yet to see, Rolling hills and misty valleys Lost behind a cloud of smog and decay, Fathers forgotten and a brother lost Forsaken by a hundred years and a "Brave New World" A past wrote in blood and etched in bone Stolen then forgotten by the lie of change, That home I remember and know so well But have never been nor seen, My heart longs for a place It knows No Longer Is.
0
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 10:44 AM UTC
Home is where the Soul is.
Home is where the Soul is. Shores long gone A distant home I have yet to see, Rolling hills and misty valleys Lost behind a cloud of smog and decay, Fathers forgotten and a brother lost Forsaken by a hundred years and a "Brave New World" A past wrote in blood and etched in bone Stolen then forgotten by the lie of change, That home I remember and know so well But have never been nor seen, My heart longs for a place It knows No Longer Is.
Continue reading...
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