Impossible Was My Heaven
A never-ending walk to an impossible heaven
Resuming the walk, after a glorious little interval
With old pearls starting to wave in from ashore
The burnt ashes of an eventful smoking spree
Began again to chant forgotten emotions galore
My skies, my winds, my thirst and my hunger
All came together to reignite my alter ego again
As the poet’s melancholy, within, re-emerges
With a symphony ever so painful starts to strain
For all the noise I famously create in tandem
A strangely familiar silence resides and rises
Like a buried soul, content with discontent
With an unexpected slump it epitomizes
Thus were the tell-tales and the tales told
In sworn threads they were so tightly woven
Albeit, in mild storm, even, all hell broke loose
Proving, regressively, impossible was my heaven