Poetry has the power
To beat the hell out of you.
To dig with endurance
Until you bleed truth.

But what it leaves behind
is cleaner than before.
It rips the rot from your soul
and calls it transformation.

Caledonia

I’m thinking of you like a person.
A soul that stole my heart
And hid it beneath a cairn
At the foot of Ben Nevis,
Waiting for my return.

When I left,
I thought I’d take memories with me.
I did.
But now they sting,
Burning right through my soul.

I want to go home.