Nostalgia

I left that easy bed for
a few nights
of sleepless nostalgia, a whisper
of past memories, knowing
I must for cords unbroked.
The wishes whispered by ears of benign revolution - we wept
at the prophetic words
of alien lives, the strums
keeping us awake through
the walls of sold memories. Each sip
a grin, each swig a sip melancholy,
each each
grabbing each each
through
forgotten reveries of unforgotten reveries.
Each each
eaching
each
soul
to death, each death
recorded with each life towards each hell.