Lost in Emotion

Sometimes I think of childhood, lost, and I cry;

I think of the long days all gone by –

It seems too short to say goodbye.

Sometimes I feel like I am young once more;

I cry about small things like when I was four –

It shakes me up to my very core.

Sometimes I have feelings with which I cannot relate;

Feelings of sadness, happiness, come too late –

Feelings like memories, lost, this I hate.

Sometimes I cannot comprehend what I feel;

I wonder at times if it ever was real –

Yet the memories, lost, disallow me to heal.

Sometimes I desire to reach back in the past;

Yet it is not as though I want those feelings to last –

I merely wish it didn’t pass by so fast.

Sometimes I want to remember the feeling I felt;

It comes to the surface like an untimely welt –

My heart, reason unknown, begins to melt.

Sometimes I ponder whether all feel this way;

If we all wonder why the feelings don’t stay –

If all have the feelings that don’t go away.

Sometimes I consider myself one of a kind;

No one else has to ponder as much in their mind –

No one else has to search in order to find.

Sometimes I believe no one ever could understand;

That often even I find it difficult to stand –

That when I’m lost in emotion I just need a hand.

The Different

I remember when we used to talk. We used to talk of the things that we wrote. And the things that we wrote were different. But the things that we wrote were the same. Now we never talk. And I read the things that you write and I read the things that I write and I never see the same. I see the different, is all I see. I remember when we used to talk. And our lives were different. But our lives were the same. Now we never talk. And I read the things that you write and I read the things that I write and I never see the same. I see the different, is all I see. How very different is this life, lived out by you. How very different is this life, lived out by me.

3/14

[An Imagination Growing Cold]

An imagination growing cold,

Possessing no dream or lasting hope.

I have fallen for a deeper trope:

New words proclaiming meanings old.

Imagination believed the claim,

Embellishing where falling short,

Yet never dreaming it of the sort

Of which to say, "It came

And went; no lasting dreams,

A fading hope already spent."

A feeling borrowed, or rather, lent:

The price, my heart torn at the seams.

Destroyed by words designed to rend;

The power of syllables deeply felt:

To lock a heart or defenses melt.

Some phrases spoken are hard to mend.

I search still deeper in my heart

And find I still cannot believe

The words that pierce my heart and cleave

That beating organ part from part.

I will not say, "It came and went;

No lasting dream, a fading hope,

No meaning beyond a simple trope."

I will not say, "Already spent."

Dreams growing cold: a dying ember

Ignites my soul; it lights my mind;

It forces me to look behind.

It tells me softly to remember.

1/14