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Francisco put up a challenge to write a poem on the word 'Hiraeth'. I haven't been around for awhile here's mine. And since it's nearing Halloween a bit Gothic.

Coming Home

I unseen next to a stone Ebenezer
Staring out to the storm churned sea
The weary and ancient wind sings to me
Wearing the garb of a regret-filled grief

There rise no air upon on my tongue
A strange feeling takes my empty heart
Journey spent and fruitless for my part
With naught but the tales Iíve spun

Looking back to the places I had been
Those memories all now ghostly mists
Home and hearth, a longing still persists
Yet gone and gone, held as a fiction within

Images pass of houses, streets, and light
Of singing and dancing, sorrow and pain
Storms of anguish with black skies and rain
Fit solid days and nights of crippling fright

All now dissipating into an indifferent dark
What did I expect to find upon my return
Those scenes that caused my heart to burn?
Home abandoned easily to go make my mark

I stand alone next to my granite Ebenezer
And look up upon the hill to my home in ruin
The chimney still stands a marker of illusion
A melancholy left upon this desperate gazer

I a black clad sojourner do each year return
To stand windblown next to this granite stone
Having come home once in a dire box alone
My soul not so far away from earthly concern.

©Ken Lehnig 2015

Why is doing what you love the hardest thing to do? Is it because failing what you thought defined you would be too devastating a thing from which to recover? If so, we stay where mere accident has left us.

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The following comments are for "Going Home"
by jonpenny

Long On Grief
I wear my grief
like garb...
regrettably long

( Posted by: awhippingflame [Member] On: October 16, 2015 )

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