Hiraeth

memories slither back,
    soft, serpentining their way,
        insidious. crawling into her
            mind as she rests on a strange,
               unfamiliar floor. next to a dark,
                   locked door, chained.   foreign
                    trees grow on the other side, red
                      and rosy, blooming in spirals, alien
                        flowers of a midnight blue. a past
                        can be broken down, but that
                       takes years, centuries. a native
                     bird's call can never disappear,
                   it remains hidden, painfully
                shackled at the back  of  her
              mind. until she dreams of it,
          of that enchanting rhythm, its
        beautiful tone. it slinks, eerie,
      to a place she dreads, its tunes
    leading her from  the  fettered
    abodes, down the mud-caked
     roads, through the ravines of
       a past she seeks to forget.
         going back in time, echoes,
             tides of lost voices spilling
               across, sidling back, sinister.
                  waves snake along, old voices,
                     remembrances of old sights, of
                     twinges of a gentle agony. her
                    sleeping soul takes her back, to
                    a place that closed its doors to
                    her wistful, glassy eyes. to a
               realm of reminiscence, past an
           ocean of pain. serpentining, the
         memory waltzes away, leaving
      an explicable ache when the sun
   shakes her shivering soul awake.