Find them if you may

Dust and smoke on some rusty roads.

The ghosts of writing spring out alone,

Near the dawn of the day

Or into the midnight fog

Mocking the shadows of my words;

Blow out the candles, Dark out the night. 

 

Find them if you may or better still,

Say rest in peace

To that what haunts you;

The silhouette of words,

The ghosts of writing,

The muses so shy.

 

If you then still persist;

Walk along the train tracks,

Run after the missed bus,

Hail loudly for a worn out taxi,

Board a plane or 

Adventure on a ship.

You will not find them.

Words lost aren’t meant to be found.

 

Lying on a charpoy

Hang onto the starry sky,

A moon will glow back at you.

Drink away the summer night

With thoughts of a rosy past,

With plans for a morrow not seen.

You will not find them.

Words lost aren’t meant to be found. 

 

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