“How is it possible to feel nostalgia for a world I never knew?”
-Ernesto Che Guevara
If there isn’t one already, then I think there should be a
word for that. To feel nostalgic for a place you’ve never been, or for a time
you never were.
The Ones That Were
The hounds are
howling and the wind it screams
Wild and wet, tearing
my soul at the seams
Somewhere behind, a
lone piper drones out a dirge
Seeking to from this
place the spirits purge
The break of day saw
loved ones’ goodbye kissed
As we headed out over
moor, and through swirling mist
To a hollow no sun
could ever penetrate
And gather as one,
to face our fate
It was from these
grounds our ancestors set sail
A young lad beside
me, takes up the wail
Like a hunting party
set on a wild boar
Cold and lifeless, to
go home no more
With eyes wide shut,
and banners unfurled
We depart now from ye,
unto this next world
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