It was like I never left.
It made me uncomfortable,
How easy it was, how familiar.

There was meaning to it when you strip it down.
Compassion.
Plus the urge not to be sad for a little while.

It's hard to escape the past,
Ghosts linger in this room.
I hear them as you sleep.
Whispering what I already know.

I think I may have to bury you,
Once and for all.
But maybe not right now

Soon I will bury you into this poem as a grave warning to all.

But for now, we do not have to be ourselves in the shadows.

I call what I like 'Good'
And what I dislike 'Bad'

This morning was good.
It all depends on what is what.

Good old rain
Is upon us again
Cold pain
is upon us again

We could melt away
Back to the black
If just for a day or more
Ignore what was felt

However
Good old rain has remain
And we should too

Darling, let yourself cry
Raining now but we have
All of our life to be dry

This travel refreshes the eyes
Even if it is the same view
Day in and night out
Doesn't take away its beauty

A journey marked by swans
That runs seaside
then turns riverside
and adjourns right side
See, it's a journey burned behind my eyes

It is between the swans that I can think
And not think
This is my safe house and I'm a habitual criminal
Stowing away in this liminal place
Taking a rest from being arrested
for too much stress

I will never tire of these travels
Each sunrise and full moon
Falling that little bit more in love
Pupils dilating as the eyes refresh

And I know it is true - my soul is arriving
Wanting to take hold of this human frame
Shake loose those dark doubts in hiding
That grants the pain that comes with looming shame

Dare I ask - Is this me now taking control
Of the internal workings from being led astray?
Or maybe I am just giving in to the expected role
Accepting the external forces at play.

When my soul arrives then I shall begin again
Born anew sans sin so to be ready
Obtain contentment and maintain
Then it may grow and bloom steady

But I was wrong – my soul is not arriving. It is here.
Yet nothing changes. My dark doubts do not disappear.

I will hear the Swan's song soon.
Pale, as the moon shines.
A fading shade and then gone.

My feathers will become fossils.
My bones will become relics.
My memory will become heirlooms to be pass down.

What more could I desire to leave behind?
When this fire goes out, do not doubt.
The ashes shall preserve my bittersweet leftovers

Standing as a haunting reminder to all
More ghostly than any ghost
That I shall survive for as long as there are those who remember

And that is it.