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