The Bleak
The ghosts of industry rest silent
in the distance before me,
risen like a concrete specter,
it will not haunt me anymore,
I'm free,
the scents and sounds
from the nearby estuary
comforts
salutes,
then gently leaves,
the bleak in which I lay
caresses parts of me that died long ago,
this body is worn,
this mind, so tired,
come save me, fix me up
then lay me down,
once all longing has gone
I will break apart
decompose
decompress,
delicately re root my skin
among the lands I use to grow in,
I will fight hard for my survival,
wait patiently for your arrival
and hope the bleak,
'these acres I've called home for so long'
will finally feel like a place I belong
