Lost and Found

What I see

and what passes through my mind

must be captured on paper

or be forever lost.

Simply forming mental descriptions

is not enough.

Images disappear,

no matter how vivid.

Thoughts turn to vapour,

no matter how insightful.

Unless they are inscribed with pen or pencil

onto a bed of paper,

they might as well not have happened.

 

Is there somewhere in the folds of my brain

a cranny that stealthily stores

these seemingly lost images?

I'd like to think so.

I'd like to know that in darkest days

I might be allowed

to retrieve the moments

that once afforded me joy.

 

I'd like that.

And if wishes were horses,

my mother always said,

beggars would ride.

 

 

Copyright © 2016 Ann Tudor
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