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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Being Lost

What’s happened to me?
Where am I at?
I am in the road
and no one remembers me.
The signs tell me
nothing of where I am.
They do not show me
the way out of loneliness.
I do not know if it’s morning or evening.
The light has no direction.
The moon hovers listlessly.

All I can do is stop,
sit by the road,
wait for a stranger to pass,
a child to run by,
a woman to smile,
because I have lost my name,
my memory,
the book of my destiny.
I have just myself,
and the dust in my hand.
The dust which never changes.
The dust that creates roses.
That keeps time in a glass,
that bakes into bricks
and builds houses.

Am I a stranded traveler?
A prodigal son?
Do the harvests wait for my labor?
Does my mother call out
not knowing my name?
Have I been born again,
or did I die in the ocean?
Did I die in the desert?
Did I pass on from a star
to the end of creation?
what’s happened to me?
Where am I at?
Will you come before night?
Will you find me in your dream?

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