Reminded me of the way poetry is written. The words find the poet. It is interesting how, if done well, we do not even really search for ourselves when we are lost. We only need to stop, be quiet, and our self will come to us.
**Lost and found**
Eyes of almond, be still my heart for your voice
has returned to this world.
How not a day has passed that I craved not your tender
voices echoing these halls, of shaky ghost and broken muses of the past.
Such rich tender words drip from your hand
Linger languid long on my heart
does pitter patter like that of a child in your world.
My first of this plane, o crush of words, of northern chill, and lips stained of wine.
I will stand quiet on afar mount range and speak not your name
but hold you softly above this madness,
oh my first..welcome..