LOST POEMS

I never tire of walking
unfamiliar streets.
But of all the streets
I have walked,
with the center
of my soul
at my side,
most I have walked
for the last time.

Untethered to responsibility
and enamoured by self-indulgence,
I move to keep moving,
at my own rhythm,
in novel directions.

Balanced
between the boundless freedom
of back-alleys and boulevards,
I discover and undiscover myself,
like meeting an old friend
for the first time.

I glide over fear
because I am fearless.
I can't be hurt
because I am numb
and feel no pain.
I have lost the irreplaceable,
and I survive.

I am resilient.
I am untouchable.

Like a drought anticipating rain,
I forage,
with utmost urgency,
for sustenance,
wherever I can find it.

I chase
after chrystalline prose
and dream
of the power of love.
I drift
through the glassless windows
of my imagination.

I listen
to the whispers
of the world
for the undulating silence...
of lost poems.

© JOHN PISCATELLA