Where is my old childhood lost
A paradise it was in those fields
I long now for a untimed halt,
A way back to those reveries.
The Sun barely lightens up the soul,
It is, within me . .. winter freeze.
A sabrelight of foregone days strike,
A forlorn descent into insanity.
Optimism comes at a price, of course,
There is but not much to usurp.
Thus I sit in despair and toil _
Away to faraway runaway scenes.
Foreboding, apprehensive are the skies,
My thoughts, my muses .. only company.
Nov 26, 2020
Nov 26, 2020 at 10:22 PM UTC
Where is my old childhood lost
A paradise it was in those fields
I long now for a untimed halt,
A way back to those reveries.
The Sun barely lightens up the soul,
It is, within me . .. winter freeze.
A sabrelight of foregone days strike,
A forlorn descent into insanity.
Optimism comes at a price, of course,
There is but not much to usurp.
Thus I sit in despair and toil _
Away to faraway runaway scenes.
Foreboding, apprehensive are the skies,
My thoughts, my muses .. only company.
Hiraeth is a Welsh word for homesickness or nostalgia, an earnest longing or desire, or a sense of regret. The feeling of longing for a home that never was. A deep and irrational bond felt with a time, era, place or person
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