Lost Things

words.. left unspoken, unhealed and unsure.
Unwanted and left upon drafted lips parched and bewildered.
daydreaming silence fallen in wonderment of lost things and
how lost things fit into the world.. now and clear.

how does something like a whisper, or the fragments of
a whiff of a warm breeze, cut so deeply in its beauty?

how can the truth of its beauty be as painful as taking that beauty
away before it was allowed to sow .. grow... be felt fully and
fully understood and claimed as one's own?

Like memories.. Sitting here thinking in fragments, whiffs and
essences, and silhouettes of waking dreams of things, i lived through
or could have been well to live without... ....



funny how the smallest steps can rock this rickety makeshift boat...

It lingers inside me and i swell hoping it will pass but it doesn't. I watch
the clock knowing the time ticks on and on without any consent.. without any
care to the watcher of it.. knowing I have an early rise... tick tock.. it calls me
to sleep but the aching in this hollowed crevice deep... incredible in its depth..
prevents me from .. ' resting'.
...How foggy in its meaning.. resting.

How many times have i looked at the clock in vain.. wondering, hoping. Sometimes wishing
that my very need to speak would some how trick the time into slowing, so that my unspoken words,
thoughts and deafened voice could come together and form words whether written or other wise and be understood...
or expressed to its completeness,... without the ache of unsettling... lingering.. the linger that stays with you like a sick stomach after an over sized and unpleasant meal scarfed down in excitement of its would-be-decadence... no such luck... and no such tonight....

Reviews

[Glen Yumang Manese]

Anguish just resonates in the lines...as a reader each stanza takes one further into the situation that you're expressing to paper...just pours all of it out and lets go of everything in the passages of this prose...