dropped and found

still holding on tightly to the tantalizingly tangible dreams woven so lightly of hope and drive.  still young but aging slowly.  pulling off amazing acts of courage and strength just to keep the dream kite floating.


I miss it all.  I still hurt over the lost moments and moments I failed to bring to life.  Still wish I could fix each individual mistake with tape and string.  Hoping to make it all pretty enough to handle.


Thick and black it did pour out and settle.  A permanent fixture on my canvas. 

Fine. 

So be it.

I still hold the brush and I still choose the colors.  Nothing will break my grip or shake my stance.  I still rule over this masterpiece. 

Lost sight for some time,  lost sound, touch and mind.  "I've been here before,"  I thought, "An ice land.  I'll find my way back out."  Wrong again.  But an interesting wrong.  I wasn't cast out of my way but just moved up and slightly left.  I'm still home, just in a new spot.  Removed from a vicious fight, just a gash or two but I was told to leave.  I packed my camp and obeyed the call.  I've always been good about that.  I'm pleased to find I'm still here in this jungle.  Disoriented and full of hurt but I'll be fine.  I know this place and it's stocked full of healing if nothing else.


I'll be fine.  I know how to build up armor and I know how to reshape it for my own sense of productivity.


I only worry for my passenger.  I can't make his supplies for him, I can only hope to help him find them.  No map, no clues just.. hope.