The Muse

(An International Journal of Poetry)

ISSN 2249 2178

 

Volume-3                                                  June -2013                                              Number-1

 

Lost

by Jason Constantine Ford

I reach out my hand and grasp the empty air

Without being able to find where you are.

Within this darkness, I almost feel despair

Until I hear your voice from place afar.

Although your words are entering my ears

And easing the load of my current fears,

The darkness has shrouded your features

And mine and left us as wandering creatures.

No form of light is penetrating your skin

Nor my own as we walk without direction.

Each thought of hope is becoming thin

As curse of darkness feels like an infection.

Not a word you speak, reveals where you stand

As fears of remaining lost now expand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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