Lost is a short poetry collection, united under the common theme of loss. This is a topic with a great deal of potential variance in presentation, but with an emotional connection that unities each piece. Loss is a universal concept, but the meaning of the word changes person to person and situation to situation.

The Cove

You always said to never sail beyond the cove,

as the seas are best left to more valiant souls.

So, for years, I did stay near that mundane shore,

perpetually wondering, but too timid to explore.

Until, one day, a great storm did come,

casting me into the open deep.

And too inept was I to fight those volatile waves,

so to the bottom of the ocean, I did sink.

Smoke and Ash

For a moment I lost your face in the smoke,

as you exhaled the last of your cigarette--

The one you put out on your mother’s carpet;

after all, it was stained anyway.

I asked if she would be mad about it;

you laughed and pulled out your lighter.

Letting the flame sear the beige paint,

until there was a permanent ashen smear.

One day, I watched her sprinkle the couch with ash,

Creating a tiny hole in the upholstery.

You said she owned a million ashtrays,

But all sat clean in the cupboard.

That day, I understood.

My Cataclysm

You entered my world cataclysmically;

with all the scintillation of an atomic detonation

and two times the damage.

You left behind only ruins;

My bones charred,

all I loved in smoke and ashes.

The Cradle

The cradle rocked, forced by a gelid wind.

And for a moment, in a squalid attic, no one dared tread,

life was mourned, be it only for a few bitter seconds.

The cradle produced an ominous creak, like a child’s first scream;

crying out for what had long been forgotten in history.

As if aware it was empty--abandoned without a purpose.

Dust was thrown up, creating a haze in the glass eyes of a bear,

and obscuring the moth-eaten cotton sheets.

The attic became dark; as if cloaking itself in a funeral garb.

Most tragic though, were those who lived below.

The creak nothing more than one of the echoes in their home,

unaware of the tragedy on the top floor from decades ago.

These poems combine to create a picture of what it means to lose something, someone or even a dream. These things all affect us differently, but in some way, the feeling remains constant.