We live in a world of what ifs.
What if we did something else,
or what if we weren’t there (as
sometimes we shouldn’t be
when it comes down to the
wrong place at the right time).
What if it never happened?
What if we had responded
differently or if we had taken
the advice we were told?
Would we have been so bold?
05/30/2023 j.g.l.
Is what you do enough?
For who?
For you?
Self-doubt?
Self-love?
Self-centered?
Is it selfish to think mainly
of what I need to do for me,
myself, and I?
Why?
When will I find resolve to
my never-ending queries?
Will it be enough?
Do you still doubt?
Do you struggle with answers,
as much as the questions?
Can you decide?
Are you trying?
Is that enough?
05/23/2023 j.g.l.
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
Lifeless mitten lays in wait. Abandoned, stiff
atop a crunchy snow bank. The sidewalk
passes by, unknowing. Throbbing red fingers,
a child’s frostbitten hand, shiver beneath a
coat sleeve. Somewhere. Seeking warmth,
comfort against winter’s harsh reality.
Unclaimed. A mitten separated from its
purpose. We all, young and older, leave
pieces of ourselves scattered throughout time.
Paperbacks, pens, sunglasses, yoga mats,
carelessly or accidentally discarded.
A laundromat sock with no mate.
Possessions or promises, more lost
than found. Feelings, emotions cast
astray. Hopelessly lost. A lone mitten,
pieces of ourselves. Where do we
go when a bit of us is missing, when
our purpose is unrealized?
Where then, when we seek warmth.
are we? Waiting to be reunited with
missing parts? Another hand to hold?
Another day. Our fingers still numb, the
lone mitten still there. The sidewalk
passes by. We remain incomplete.
I’m like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
One reply on “More Lost Than Found”
I loved this.