We have all forgotten
What love is.
They whisper of love,
The lost.
They say it is like fog,
Blinding yet beautiful,
Curious yet dangerous.
They say love is like a shadow,
Always present,
A constant reminder
That you are there,
That it isn't all a dream.
They say it is the opposite of being lost,
Slowly nudging you forth
Like a soft summer breeze.
When you are lost
There is no fog,
No shadows,
No breeze,
No love.
We are allowed desire,
A little worm that keeps us here
In the in between.
We are allowed lust,
The immense desire
For another's body
Against our own.
But not love.
Never love.
For we are the lost,
Much too dead to live
And much too alive to let go.
YOU ARE READING
Lost
Poetry"I am not afraid of death, For I am already dead." This four-part poem tells the story of lost souls who slowly lose pieces of themselves, as they tell of forgetting love, and of what it means to be lost.
