Lost Mitten

Out of my depth, and my mind,

The lost mitten you'll never find.

Nobody wants to hear my heart,

Or find meaning in my written art.

Living cowardly and crying,

Everything I care about is dying,

Friendship, love, and family fading,

Hypocrisy and hate pervading.

Am I a victim of over-thinking?

Brought on by bouts of over-drinking,

I'd sell my soul to meet a kindred-kind,

But there are no things as souls defined.

I am lost in space without a map,

A brittle twig, about to snap,

I've lost my way, my path unclear,

No mittens found on this frontier.

I have trouble holding on to glee,

Surely, it must have visited me,

But what the past has made very clear:

The future is worse than it may appear.

That flowers die, but bloom next year;

The lone daisy has no thought to cheer,

For itself has rotted by slow decay,

All things, great and small, will end this way.

For me, and I, there is but linear time,

Cyclical thinking belies the crime,

Friends and lovers may be now in tow,

But tomorrow, they must surely go.

Image is not mine