Hopeless, heaving, havoc-
wreaking, hateful, half-time
happenings, so harrowing, have you
any idea the hope that is lost,
the ways I have lost, so many ways
I was hoping to hop, to trot and
to heave my belongings, my half of
this world as it rots, the happiness
happening but not, the haste in
which my direction changes with the
wind, a hurricane forming in the
epicentre of hours of homecoming,
if only I could. If only home hadn’t
been lost. But hoping hasn’t made
anything happen, only the
actions of the whirlwind, the
heaviest of houses heaving
their bodies down, and I was
a house, I was a heart that had no
reason to hope, just a haze, a happy
helpful haze, now history, now
hungry, hurt, homeless, hopeless.
If only I could come home to my better
self, my halting, healthy, half-
baked, wisdomless self. If
only I could come home to all that is
lost, all that I lost.