Hireath

[subjectivefate]

The Hireath of my mind's eye I'm not minding

this is dying

broken
celestial wings
adorned with the forlorn memories of
a cantanouse peotic refrain from the rim of which
you could never return
this is a home I'm yearning
an Odysseus caught at the see
of a purgatorio nostalgique

this is the end my friend
and in many more ways than Jim Morrison
or The Doors could've
imagined.