Old Guardian

To myself.

Old guard on the moor, windy swept and roughly kept

she’s far from you now, isn’t she?

The one you gave your heart to?

Your tattered tartan heart

the fabric of who you are worn thin

beneath the skin like a fading tattoo

the promise of forever discolored and warped

you poor pathetic fool

waiting forever

for the one long lost on the waves

she’s gone, she’s gone

her last breaths drowned out by the sigh of the sea

never coming back, never coming back

thudding refrain, prayer to the sane

never coming back, not the same

she won’t be the same

Ever.