Lost Souls
poets,
modern day prophets,
created not made,
whispers heard in the heart,
that stir the soul,
voices existing through the eons,
asking questions,
and awaiting answers,
the same questions,
but different the answers,
the soul serene,
if the answer found,
just and righteous,
but most times,
the answers,
incomplete,
raising more questions,
which cause the spirit to search,
further and further within,
until pathways lost,
no bread crumbs marking the way,
left lost,
in a void,
empty of everything,
but consciousness and thought,
words written,
to find our way out,
back to Pooh corner,
and childhood dreams.
Douglas Polk
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