Lost

Standard

The end

is the best place to start
when you’re lost for words
because, apart from the troubles
you’ve saved yourself from
having to think of a beginning,
all you need to work out
is how to retrace your steps
walk backwards, in heels if needs must
in lines in the sand and the dust
and trust me, it gets easier.
Because maybe it’s just a phrase
you’re going through.
And you’ll figure out
that in your end may very well be your beginning,
but – and this is just a feeling, Toto –
we are not in Little Gidding any more
so carry on. Walk.

Run if you must, run from the living
run through the dead, empty words
that brought you here in the first place.
Run until the air burns in your lungs
sounds stick to your tongue
piercing your throat
with peaks of voice.

Pick apart the rain now rushing
on your skin, washing the world
clean of the steps you
took on your way to the end
of your life-long sentence
the full stop with no real cause
attempting to order the clauses
clawing at each other
scratching each other
into your mind and fingers
wanting to spill onto the page.

And when, not if, you lose your thread
make sure to tread carefully
on your own or someone else’s dreams.
Apologies can only do so much
and minds are fragile things,
thumb prints can burn and stay
on blood and ink and skin
so think before you speak
but always, always speak your thoughts.

And run, or walk if you must
carry the weight, count the prints
you left on your route here
close the circle and return
back to the place where you started
all the way back to

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