Lost & Found

How do I so frequently fall‐

into the very feeling that makes me wish away them all?

Why do I so constantly find‐

my heart here?

I fear, that my mind‐

has been taking collect calls.

But from who?... ‐or where?

By the day and even when the evening falls,

all night long-

time has become, for me‐

over the years, its own kind of torture.

It even has its own song.

I thought I knew torment,

and all of its varying kinds, but‐

again, my spirit has found trouble.

My soul, is lost amongst its rubble.

I don't know, if I'll ever find‐

exactly, where this war went

My notes, by the day‐

they don't add up.

I can only think so much.

These mental gymnastics, I can't keep up.

Some corners of thought will have to remain untouched.

Hoping I don't fall again‐

questions for later, then, and now,

will have to remain unanswered‐

and for now, later, and then,

any incoming calls will have to be left unanswered.

Collect or not, all will be missed‐

as I stand and watch the signals,

hoping none are missed.

Lost and found again and again,

as if a ritual‐

by night and day searching for myself,

only to be lost and found again.