There are no poetic ways to explain the life we live, or is there?
How can one say, in poetic terms, what one feels?
Why are the poetic meanings here one instant, and gone the next?
Who has an ongoing poetic way of communicating?
Where do lost thoughts go when they are lost?
Why do we sometimes find thoughts, and where were they a minute before?
What is that inspiring spark that lights thoughts with a glow of poetic pen?
When did we first have a poem, that work spirit into life?
These are the inquiries of the lost and found.
Bullion Grey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lost-found-4/
