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Lost But Not Forgotten
Not words, not movements, not shadows,
The fleeting material of dreams; intangible,
As if life were an outgrowing spiral,
Getting larger, yet spinning inward,
A paradoxical cycle,
A motion of emotion.
The door to the past is left wide open,
Allowing minds to float freely,
Meandering, dangling, swaying to and fro,
Between then and now, now and then,
Constantly pushing forward,
While lunging backwards-
Careful not to relinquish our experience...
Only at our end do we drop this vase,
The vase that cradles our outgrowing life,
While it remains that our own end
Is not the finality of human existence,
Yet, by the hour of our exit,
We have told our tale, shared our souls,
Given our lives in essence to our companions,
Ours finds place in the folds of theirs,
As they weave their own journey.
Here, our lives fragment,
And become various aspects of those whom we touched,
The flags of a new beginning unfurl,
Fluttering in the winds of the lost,
But not forgotten.
