You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘Lost’ tag.

There are some things
that you just shouldn’t say;
there are some things
that you should just keep to yourself;
there are some wishes that should just stay
thoughts in your head,
and they should stay that way;
there are some things and some dreams and wishes
that you should just never tell.

If you see something you should share it,
if you feel something by all means you should express it-
but words and speech are very powerful things,
and if you do not think before you speak
what you wanted to last and what you always count on
being there might not be there anymore when you look again,
because saying what you said, for whatever reason,
might have accidentally, but always necessarily, and fatefully,
jinxed it.

Sometimes you can think of someone,
someone you haven’t thought about for ages,
and then suddenly and randomly out of nowhere, seemingly,
you see them right in front of you, and all the time;
sometimes you may not want to see a particular person
and they will constantly pop up into view on your timeline.

The world is complicated and fascinating,
and there is always more going on than we can ever know.
The lives of strangers tangle together every second
as we make our way according to the direction
and plan of a universal map and nexus of what
we all need to do and where we all need to go.

Superstitions are not a science of the sort that we know,
but the significance and meaning is tangible and ever-present;
superstitions are not just sayings or ‘old wives tales’ to me,
superstitions are proof of the omni-present,
superstitions are hieroglyphics of language and thought
that cannot so easily be swept-aside or dismissed out of hand,
superstitions are myths and legends that ring true
for a reason- like the promise of an undiscovered country,
or the enduring story and allure of a lost island,
or a far away land.

Be careful what you wish for,
because someone is always listening;
be careful what you say,
because some times the reply that you get back
could be very surprising;
be careful what you do,
because things that you thought were burned and buried
have a way of rising from the flames like a Phoenix;
be careful to think clearly about what you want
and why you want it, and if it means a lot to you
keep you secret to yourself for as long as you can,
because the last thing you want to do is jinx it.

image

On a morning walk down the city high-streets,
passed countless people, passed shops,
stores, restaurants of all names,
I am stopped in my tracks instantly when I see
a Golden Gunslinger reading a book
while sitting at the foot of a tree.
I’m not sure how long he had been there,
I’m not sure what he was thinking,
but when I looked at him looking down at his book,
to me, the gunslinger looked
as if he didn’t have a care in the world,
and it seemed as if to the gunslinger
the rest of the world could carry on their way
because he was lost in thought, in state,
and frozen in time, but like a performer at a carnival,
the gunslinger sat with a tin pot
just to the left of his right boot
asking politely of his generous passer-by
for a token of interest, fascination, respect,
and a thought to show that they care.

I sat in-awe of the gunslinger on a bench nearby,
and I even took a picture-
I felt like I was looking back in time,
or as if the gunslinger had been transported to the future,
to our present-
and as I sat looking at him, the sun shone brightly on him,
and made him glow even more golden,
and he looked even more amazing than he did before,
and even the sky above looked even more blue.
I thought long and hard about approaching the gunslinger
and putting some money in his pot,
and I wondered what he would do if I did-
would he lower his book? Draw his gun and take a shot?

The incredible living-statue of the gunslinger
that mesmerised me, painted head to toe in gold,
in himself was a work of art-
he was so brilliant to behold,
because as soon as I saw him I was instantly transported
back in time to my childhood,
and my fantasies of wanting to be a cowboy.
The Golden Gunslinger was like a living photograph
of a time of adventure and a reminder of the heroes
and out-laws that fill the stories of the Wild West
that once was in America that for so many
still holds a special place in their heart;
The Golden Gunslinger reminded me of how care-free
and amzing it is to a child, or someone who acts on and follows
their instinctual passions-
whether you are a man, or a woman, a girl, or a boy.

As time caught up with me,
even though in all the time I was sitting there looking at
the gunslinger he did not move an inch,
I realised that it was time for me to move on.
I decided to approach the gunslinger and give him a coin
from my pocket to repay him for his time,
his inspiration, his generosity, and his golden spirit,
and even as I got closer and closer
he still didn’t look up or look away from his book
and didn’t for a second flinch;
and then, as soon as my £2 coin hit the rest of the coins
in his golden pot and made a sound,
The Golden Gunslinger suddenly came alive
and he looked up at me-
he lifted his left hand to touch the rim of his Stetson,
he looked right into my eyes, and I saw him smile
without him having to move his lips at all,
and he bowed his head slightly,
and it was in that moment that I smiled too
in appreciation, and I too began to shine as the sun shone.

As I stepped back the gunslinger reverted back
to the pose in which I first saw him,
and he immediately went back to his prefered-posture
of reading his book, at-ease against the base of his tree;
while I turned to my right and continued to walk down the high-street-
I didn’t look back, but I knew and I was so glad to have met him,
to have given him my time, and for him to have given his time to me
and to everyone who saw him, because he reminded me
in lots of ways of myself, and he was obviously someone
of great patience and a deep-thinker.
I promised myself to capture this moment that would never come again
in as much detail and with as much meaning as I could,
and I also promised that I would never forget
The Golden Gunslinger.

image

While walking in the woods near my house,
I came upon a lost glove-
it was just sitting there undisturbed and unmoved
on a bush at the foot of a tree;
a lone glove, which I couldn’t tell
if it was intended to be worn on the left hand or on the right;
a lone glove that for some reason had been parted from its pairing,
which lay as if it had fallen from above,
instantly intrigued me, made me smile, and made me wonder
what and who had brought it here to the middle of the forrest
only to leave it- something just didn’t seem right.

Every time I returned to my favourite place to walk,
to think, and to marvel at Mother Nature,
I always made a point to go to where I knew the multi-coloured
and multi-patterned glove continued to lie;
for weeks, months, maybe,
I returned and to my delight the glove remained where it always was-
it always brightened my day to see it, for some reason-
maybe it was the randomness of the sight of a lone glove, a lost glove,
far-away from the hand of anyone, that amused me,
and also inspired me in some way.

One day, I returned to the woods,
I took the same path that I always take-
I walked and I looked in anticipation of seeing the lost glove,
but it was nowhere to be seen-
I walked the same path again and again, over and over,
but all I saw in the place that I remembered it being
was just a multitude of growing green.
The first time I saw the glove,
I had thought that its sudden appearance
and consequent reappearances were a sign, an insight,
an easter-egg into the inner-workings of chaos,
nature, choice, subtlety, fun;
and when I realised that the glove was gone-
it had been picked up by someone else,
reclaimed by its former owner,
or it had been taken by an animal-
I felt genuinely sad;
but every time I walk passed where it was, even now,
I wonder where it came from.

The glove that was once lost was found by me.
I did not take it, I did not claim it,
but for a short-time it was a talisman to me,
a charm of life that I was always pleased to see,
a seed of joy, a flower of hope that grows in my imagination,
which I am in-awe of;
and that is why I will never forget the autumn days
of the lost glove.

I am in love.
You are the only one that I think of.

I can’t believe I found you.
You don’t know what I have been through.

I saw perfection the moment that I followed your footsteps.
You live on the other side of a mirror,
but how I feel about you is what truly reflects.

I had to break my own heart in-two to let my love flower
so that I could show it to you.
You gave me something a long time ago,
but you never knew.

I am so lucky, blessed, alive,
because of what you gave me.
You made me believe in hope and goodness for the first time in a while-
you were like pure white moonlight on a dark sea.

I can’t forget the beauty of your smile,
I can’t deny the tender touch of your distant kiss upon my heart.
You are the inspiration, the paintbrush, and the colour, of my art.

I feel people moving away from me;
but you just keep getting closer,
you never go anywhere I cannot see.

I look at your face, I look into your eyes, and I become lost in you.
You look back at me, and the universe feels like
it has been reborn in my chest,
and I see everything that I love about life
in everything that you say and do.
I swear that I am staring at a dark-haired Angel
when I see the sunlight shine on you from behind,
making you look even more gorgeous as you glow.

You are all that I, or anyone, could ever wish for, or ever want.
You are incredible, you are stunning;
you are summer, you are star-light;
you are ocean-breeze, you are bliss.
I want only what is best for you.
I wish our voices didn’t have to carry so far to talk to each-other.
I thank the universe for bringing us together,
so that I could say I love you
and give you the gift of my Valentine’s kiss.

Dear friend,

I have changed so much,
more so than I ever truly realized;
I am not myself anymore,
in ways that I can no longer disguise.
What has changed? Who am I, if I am not myself?
And, why do I feel as if I cannot change things back?
Why do I feel as if I have lost my way,
and that life has covered-over my tracks?
I used to be content in myself,
and untroubled by the intentions of others;
however, I now believe that my focus has shifted
away from what I want, to what it is that everyone else prefers.
Have I been lying this whole time?
If that is the case, then that was not my intention-
things were definitely simpler when I didn’t feel like the technology,
as well as the inventor of the invention.
I feel like I have become a part of the crowd,
where before I was the solo member of my own band;
a sunken island that has been swallowed by the sea,
when all I ever wanted to be was an untainted, free,
oasis of untouched land.
Change can be the best things ever,
putting a spring in your stride can make you feel amazing-
I regularly pray at the altar of variety,
but I sometimes think that things seemed more special
when I was just a boy who was stargazing.
I followed a shooting-star one night,
and from that inspiring evening to now
I have no recollection of the words and the events in-between-
I feel like I have just returned home
from living in the wilderness with no knowledge of where I have been.
How much of who I was remains?
How many traits of who I always wanted to be still live on in me, if any?
I may not be able to turn back the clock, and reset what has happened,
but I can save a part of myself- this letter, this realization-
that was born on the epiphany.

Your friend.

Photobucket

Archives

Twitter Updates

Error: Twitter did not respond. Please wait a few minutes and refresh this page.

Poetographic

%d bloggers like this: