Sunday Afternoon Poetry #10

Well good afternoon! Welcome back to Sunday Afternoon Poetry. I'm elated to have you back again for another week to bring some beautiful poetry to your mind. As is the current custom, I will be posting first one of my original works to be followed up later by a poem written by another author that has impacted me in some way.

Today's poem is one of my personal favorites. What you get from it will be entirely up to you, but I will not give you any predispositions before you read it. I find that poetry, like art (because it is art), is most often best left to be interpreted by the individual. What one piece of art speaks to you may well be different than what it speaks to me. So without further delay, I present this week's original work.

The Blowing Wind

I've lost something and don't know where
I hope I did not lose it there
What it is I cannot say,
But I remember from yesterday.
If only I could go back then
And track it down to start again.
But time is like a blowing wind
Continues on and has no end
And I am like the flailing leaf
Flying on, alone in grief.
Where I'll stop, God only knows,
When the wind no longer blows.
But a piece of me seems lost for good,
If only I could have understood;
How the times can change a plan,
Save a life or ruin a man.
But `lo, it is too late to find,
That missing peace inside my mind.
I hope whomever shall find my loss,
Upon the path they're going to cross,
Shall keep it well and keep it safe
Or perhaps one day you might awake
And see you've lost what someone found,
Lying there upon the ground.
So take these words, hear them out;
And learn what life is all about.
Forget ye not the gift ye gained,
Although the emptiness remains,
What we've lost, someday returns,
Yet still we may not ever learn,
Even written clear as text,
Until the wind blows to the next.

-John Thibeau 10/Apr/2002

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