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Lost, Not Found
Lost.
That is what am;
What I will be.
Meaning so much,
Yet nothing at all.
What I find is what I lose
And yet I continue.
What would happen
If I stopped searching?
Would there be anything left?
Losing is discovering
In it's own way.
With nothing to lose
You find yourself
And see what cannot be seen.
I can see you now.
You are lost.
You and me
Both are this way.
Can you see me too?
For what I am?
I hope,
For I am lost.
I have been lost
And have not been
Found.
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This article has 14 comments.
I like this, sort of depressing, but I like it! If you could read/comment on my poem, "Perfectly Damaged," that would be great!
Thanks!
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Favorite Quote:
"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all." - Emily Dickinson