The Lost and Found

The Lost and Found

I went to the office at school today,
Looking for the lost and found.
What I saw was a more morbid display -
Forgotten hearts:
Trampled, though still beating,
Intense with pain of inaudible sound.

"Whose heart is this?"
I cradled one in my hand.
Who would have done this
To the keeper of the soul?
A heart loves,
A heart heals,
A heart thinks with its own mind,
And to leave a heart abandoned
Seems to waste God’s given time.
Yet, this flickered a flame of familiarity
Within the shadows of my life…

...Life, Love, the Pursuit of happiness -
All such classical beauty.
But a life in love with the Pursuit of feigned gladness
Murdered the innocence in clarity.
Aging the eyes,
It shattered all remnants of sincerity.
Their spark ebbs,
Tides abrade,
Their depths grow dark and deep,
Empty from a never-ending loss of sleep.
His piercing glare
Sought after a fantasy land
Whose language I failed
To ever understand;
My eyes glazed,
In a most pitiful haze -
Portrait of an unstable mind,
Haunted since the beginning of time.

It was the Fourth of July,
The most dreaded day of mine.
We had been out on the boat,
And were drinking away,
Away with all our worries,
Away with our cares,
Away with gentlemanly restraint
Forcing a chaotic affair.
Nothing went as planned –
Or, rather, expected;
Pursued by a more-than-taken man
While my man neglected…
Neglected to be there even when I needed him most.
And by the time he walked in,
I was curled up on the floor,
Rocking ever so gently...
Back and forth.
Tears streaming down my face,
I look up at him,
And as I shook uncontrollably,
I knew I could not win.
Still,
I've never been one for giving up -
This skeleton remained locked away,
Somewhere dark inside,
For the sake of a desperate love.
Months stretched by,
And he pulled me farther from my own,
Leaving my soul
To wander the streets,
Horribly alone,
The entire time searching for home.
And when home is where the heart is,
And your heart is nowhere to be found,
The pain grows heavy,
Weighing Hope down.
And even I began to question
The clarity of my mind.
My method of trust
Versus
His method of lies –
At least my method cheered for the right side.
And the heart in my hand pulsed louder
As it gained life.

That's just the problem, though,
I could no longer stifle my past.
I had to accept the facts
To get over them at last.
And here was my heart,
Deeply wounded, but so alive...
Still my soul’s truest art
Now that it has yours by its side.