Those friends

I miss you most
On the lonely days,
The ones where the
Superficial nature
Of today’s friendships
Leave me longing
For soul friends,
Those that weave through
And know you,
Those that weather the
And gather years,
Like beads on the arms
Of an abacus.
A friend who knows
At the first sign of winter
You throw on your boots
And wrapped in a scarf
You become an eskimo,
Those ones.
A friend who knows
Your drama, witnessed it
And stood with
Open arms when you
Stood drenched in defeat,
Those ones.
A friend who you can call
And know that not a single
Tear will fall unaccounted,
Those ones.
A friend who, if you had to
Choose a sister in this life,
It would be her,
That friend,

Copyright Hiraeth 2018



And one day
You understand the thin line
Between love and hate
Only because you walk it,
Balancing atop your sanity,
You stand in court
And declare that that which
Was once love,
Delicious, beautiful, poetic, sunset,
Sea and music in water paint
Is now desecrated, painted
In shades of black,
More hues than you ever
Imagined, palette knifed on
Your naive canvass,
Bleeding at its seams.
And you stand on that beam
And pretend that you are brave
While inside
Your self cries out in pain
And once it is over,
A paper as proof
That you towed the line
You look at yourself,
At what remains
And you realise
You have become

Copyright Hiraeth 2018


And one day
You remember every
Seed he planted
Every gift He gave,
And you become
Brave enough to write
Without anyone reading,
And spill your
Heartache on a page,
Brave enough to
Be an artist
And paint the sunsets
Of your soul
And the seeds grow,
they blossom
and you become
as beautiful
as He intended.

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With time

With time
You see it for what it was,
For what you fell,
Crazy love
The type that endangers
Your life at 180km/h
On the freeway,
The type that breaks in to
Your house,
The type that steals
Your money,
The type that shouts
So loud and obscene
That your sensitive self
And you allow it
Because any drama,
Any love,
Even this
Is something,
Fills some void.
And with time
You forgive
Your naive self,
Your weak self
And embrace
Your broken self

Copyright Hiraeth 2017

Linkin Park

This world is becoming
For sensitive souls
The pace at which
We live, move, breathe
Conflicts in every way
With the rhythm
Of a sensitive soul.
It devours the time
To reflect,
To cry,
To heal.
Social media
overwhelms us,
Every mistake we
Ever made is flashed
Back as a memory.
Every person we lost
Lives on there,
A timeline of
Emotional memory
You have no control over.
Every person seems
To be coping better
Have it together,
Have the best filters
For their life.
The violence of the world
Casually displays
On your morning feed,
Children gassed to death
And women scarred by
And your sensitive self
It gasps for air.
You begin to medicate,
Find a vice to deal
With each day,
Until you realise
You are fighting a battle
You can’t win
On your own;
But you are
Here is where that
Discussion about
How many talented souls
Are committing suicide
Should start.

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And you start somewhere
Because anywhere,
Even a few steps ahead
Is better
Than this hell
Created and called home.
So you start focussing
On your job,
Meaning something to others,
Because you
Have nothing
To offer yourself.
And you get up,
Even when you find it hard
Even when sleep,
Is a sweet retreat
From reality,
Even when you fail
To see any sense.
And slowly it gets easier
There are small glimpses
Of hope,
A note of appreciation,
A smile on someone’s face.
One step each day
Turns into months,
And slowly you become
You start to believe
That perhaps
You do have a place
To call home,
And you realise
Home doesn’t need to
A person.
And He
Becomes your home.

Copyright Hiraeth 2017


We were seventeen.
We would sit on the carpet
And you would play
On the guitar
While we sang
K’s Choice songs
About 20 000 seconds
Since you were gone,
We sang it
Like we knew about loss,
Like it was real to us.
And this morning
I played their songs
At maximum volume
And sang along
About 20 000 seconds
Since you were gone,
I sang it
Like I knew about loss,
Like it was real to me.
And I realised,
We were beautiful,
Forever captured in our
Youth and naivety.
And every now and then
You play K’s Choice songs
In my dreams
And I
Like you are real to me.

Copyright Hiraeth 2017

My Little Warrior

It’s not about his bike that broke
Or the Lego warrior who’s
Sword is missing,
Or the biscuit that is broken
And should be whole
It’s not about the noodles
You made
When he really felt like
Sweet corn soup.
It’s just about:
Him having been a warrior today,
And now he needs you
To hold him,
Tickle his back
And tell him:
He is your

Copyright Hiraeth 2017

Walk On

And one day
You lay the drama down
Like a coat that for a while
Was comfort,
Was love,
But now fits awkwardly,
Revealing all your
Every curve and contour.
And you take it off
Because your role is done
And although the rest still
Play their roles
(ever less convincingly)
You no longer can.
And without blame,
(Because stupidity
always requires two)
You stand naked
In your shame,
In your self
And with bravery
As your only companion
(but the one who breathed life
into you holding your hand)

Copyright Hiraeth 2017

All the moments

I will love you
In all the moments,
Even those
Inbetween, the ones
Where my own fears
Reside and shame
Stands accusing,
You have been
Here before
And drenched in
Fight or flight mode
My inner child screams
Burn before
You get burnt;
Even in those,
I will nurture my
and love you
In all these moments,
Because you gave
My inner child
A home.

Copyright Hiraeth 2017