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Melancholia
It’s been a year since I’ve had a home
and the city that I used to call my own
slowly melts away through the tip of my tongue
–remembrances that once were
from someone who is now dead.
No time to mourn the bus stop.
No ode is sung for the coffee shop.
But, should we only remember grand design
and cast away the quieter signs,
shards of time that illuminate the night,
which keep us ember company through our time?
It’s been a year since I’ve had a home,
but the remnants of it do still glow
and like golden ale, they warm my soul
’til their light expires, glowing for me nevermore.
