Lost Returned

I wasn't exactly sure of what I should call this poem. It's a little odd, but it makes sense to me. :)


On the edge of my mind where dreams roam free;
Around the corner of my eyesight there is but a taste of vision.
A stumbling leap in a skeptic's decision.

Grasp of my hand where I reach for an illusion;
Around the strength of my senses a wisp of a familiar scent.
A snatch of potential malicious intent.

Off the tip of my tongue where thoughts escape;
Deep in the depths of my heart a faint melancholy song.
Down on my knees, the route all along.

From the Word to find the wandering dream;
Grip to what won't let go, breathe in to breathe what you didn't before.
Wipe away the past, recall what you saw.

On the road where we retrace my misled footsteps;
He plays a finer sonata on the notes of my life than I.
A wish to live the entire song before I die.

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Clare said...

Ah I like this, I din't understand it at first but by the end I did.

Lecheria Criada said...

Thank you, Clare. :)

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