Lost Letters

Oh, Tell me where a lost letter goes!

Each time a pen touches parchment

Each time a man scratches paper – bleeds ink

Bleeds – cries, the only way that he knows

Each time he thinks that he’s found himself

Each time he thinks that he’s free – for a moment

Then pages fly – whenever wind blows

Can lost letters grow from seeds yet sown?

We grip the pages, crumple our skin

Words etched into flesh as if they could last –

Last as long as runes, carved into stone

We pour our tears into the folds of pages

We bend ourselves into men of paper –

Paper folds neater than flesh and bone

Can lost letters flow when mouths stay closed?

Lost letters: they try to break free – shatter our teeth

Lost letters: squirm in our throat until we choke –

Choke on our spit – ink bleeds from our nose

Lost letters: forming on our lips as we fight to sleep

Lost letters: should have been shared and shouted

Should have grown tall – but now decompose

No matter where, lost letters will go…

…But what if they didn’t – kept in stow?

If we hold them tight against the wind…

If we can wait to reap until after we sow…

If we can sing what we write – not swallow it…

…Could there be a place where lost men go?

We must hold on – so we can let go.