Lost Voices

I lost him,
Flushed around a well-worn bend,
Time-travelled and perfunctory,
The path everybody takes.
I lost him
For a time.
Saw the depths of secret dreams
Slowly fall away.
Yes, I lost him,
Him being me.
The road behind stole a voice,
My voice,
Tried to twist and abuse it,
Turn and confuse it.
But I did what others wouldn’t
Though they thought it would break me;
Had he gone crazy?
He. I. Me. There wasn’t a one,
Not a name, nor face, nor voice,
I felt happy with.
But it’s coming now,
Creeping out from layers of slate and perspiration.
Yes, emerging.
And somewhere on an unknown, unseen road,
The voice I’ll hear will be my own,
And it won’t matter what the others think
Because I’ll be happy,
Just happy,
As I was so many dreams ago.
I’ll claim that lost voice as my own.
And you’ll all know it’s me,
The real me,
The me I should always have been.

23 thoughts on “Lost Voices

      1. You have to let go sometimes. In my writing is the only time I can reveal my feelings. Very few people get what I’m feeling because the metaphors can mean something else. Also no one knows what’s real and what’s just creative liberty. 😉

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