The past is a taunter, laughing into my back,
And it beckons me wary, to fear
That causes me to be empty and lack,
I don’t know how to respond or what to tell you future,
Things always seem possible from one angle, and shift
Too quickly to reassure,
And spaces between the lines
Are so hard to translate sometimes,
That I guard too cautiously and don’t know how to reply, or how to feel,
How to listen or what to say,
My trail is a confusing way,
A paradox that folds this and there every day.
The past is a taunter, laughing deeply,
Making me think harder than necessary,
Perplexing my mood, and confusing my thoughts,
Changing my mind, and doubting my oughts,
Many things from its laugh it has taught,
It’s the shape of my life, formed into stone,
Never to be altered, it’s made me as I am alone,
And who I am, is lost.
Lost for words,
Lost for thoughts,
Lost for time,
Lost for love,
Lost for hope,
Lost, for no place to go,
Lost, for I don’t know the way,
Lost, for a desire to be found,
Lost, for you to find me,
Lost for you to teach and show me,
Lost for you
For all of you,
Everyone.
Will you discover me?
Probably never;
My past is laughing, hear it,
Then you’ll know.