Lost poems
While our poems may seem lost,
Torn from our lips,
Loosed into the universe,
Released from their prisons
Within our dreams,
To fade into eternity;
They still exist
As murmurs on the breeze,
Ever quieter
But never gone,
For nothing created
Ever dies.
We are surrounded,
Engulfed
With the entire lexicon
Of humanity,
Of nature,
Of all life,
As it throbs
Through our veins,
Always.
For nothing is ever lost.
The past vibrates
Through the present.
Our dreams and poems
Live forever –
For as long as there is a breeze to carry them.
Opher 27.7.2020