This is a response to my previously written poem, “Dead in the UK“
I heard cliffs
calling my name out
the roads were old and slick
while I waded through sane doubts.
Cloth within my fist
and every breath was a wind storm,
ink within my wrist
a place that never has been warm.
Up until the dusk
when my ancestors all met me,
a prayer to build a trust
I hope they’ll never forget me.
I almost shed a tear
from fear and also from sheer bliss,
an isle in the Skye
I’ll cry for cliffs and their dear kiss.
All behold
the open ocean
flee from those
with hopeless notions,
look within
this broken scope
and tell me,
do you see me coping?
Nope, I’m just a different person
life is sweet after it worsens,
no defeat, no longer hurt and
all I see are highland verses.
Curse is broken, I went westward
in the moment found the best words,
more I saw the hurt was lesser
coast to coast, unburdened pressure.
I heard cliffs
calling my name loud
I’m glad I didn’t slip
despite the snow as I came down.
AML Author 