Nostalgia for Home

On a wild winter’s beautifully brisk night,
The darkness massacred the lingering light,
The home was at peace; where walls were wailing.
“Bang” snarled the unknown and forsaken his mind trailing,
His heart was drowning, but his imagination was sailing,
His skin was quivering, yet his world was unveiling,

Flooded with memoirs and shackled by fear,
These bittersweet moments always feel queer,
Empty nostalgic feelings in eternal enslaving,
Some black-and-white, some still engraving,
All laboured and milked of their essence,
The yearnful years are missing their presence.

Loaded with laughter, full of rush,
Endless endeavours, little hush,
Constantly changing, trapped in the day,
No time to think, only time to play.
Playing in the garden and out at the park,
Sliding, swinging and smiling’s endless arc.

A cloud of doubt suffocates these meanings,
Ignorance segregates all of their screenings,
Trapped under ice anxiety tackles me,
It navigates my mind back out to sea,

The more memories dissolve, the more I’m cliché,
These Stolen Generations are rotting to grey,
These moments won’t get to see the light,
Only living in the present, to my own plight.
Heartbroken and locked with dread,
My failing brain will bury the dead