THE LOST POET

It all started with the why question, when everything that wanted to be only required my true, undivided attention. I brewed a lot of hope on messed up chances. I was motivated, didn’t believe that losing had a chance but alas, the smile on my face was shattered. Endurance was so agonizing; I couldn’t help but drop tears. Every day felt like a year with my worst fears. I loved to be strong but I never thought I would cry and no one would hear my voice. My tears are buried in the belief that I am a man. The present moment seems nice, I feel like I have figured life out. No more long and painful nights, deleting everything that was buried in a lie behind a fabricated smile. Can you blame my naïveness for believing that I can fly? Am just trying to get a reward from the pain. I am happy— that is the truth— but I also believe that the past can still happen. Am I a fool? Love left scars so deep; now I’ve built up walls. I don’t know what I feel anymore— is it love or just the last struggles of a broken heart? Repairs are on the way; I hope it will start kicking again. Anyways, that’s life and its pains. Lost is the poet in his own words.