Searching for something that can’t be found

Poem nineteen http://napowrimo.com

The weight of words I want to say
is pressing down on me.
A familiar sound, face or voice
and suddenly you’re there.

I feel your presence though it can’t be true.
Every fleeting glance in a crowd
reminds me I should be looking.

Searching for something that can’t be found.

I look at a vast sky that houses us both,
and wonder silently where you are.
I will you to call out to us.

Every month that goes by you recede further,
to unknown corners of my memory.
I fear a day when you are lost completely.

Till then I am just searching for someone who can’t be found.

Beginnings

Poem One – http://www.napowrimo.net/

Let’s begin at the beginning, a very good place to start.

I need to begin.

Somewhere, somehow, I need to find the strength.

Why is it so hard you may ask?

Because to begin I need to

Embrace the end.

The point of a beginning is that it will end.

There is no point starting 

What you won’t finish.

And there’s the rub.

I’m not sure I’m ready to end.

To let it in,

To say what I need to.

I owe you those words that catch in my throat.

I owe myself a chance

to say goodbye.

No matter how hard.

And so to get to my destination, I will need

To Begin.

How many Sunday baths

Will it take?

Soaking away the dirt

And the past.

Until I vow to be reborn, clean and baptised

Into a newer version

Of the same old story.

By: Becky Bite

Living for Today

A quick, furtive glare at the hourglass
is a must I decide as I plait my hair
and shovel on the face I keep for lunching out.
My subtly brown lips smirk as I catch myself
in the mirror. The picture of elegance…I wish.
But as I prepare to leave I consult
my hourglass and stop dead in my tracks.
Where has all the sand gone? I have just half
left but where’s the rest?
Surely I cannot have lived for so long?
Surely I would have noticed life slip by somehow?
I scan the photographic memories on the walls,
searching for an answer,
searching for a hint of time passing, something,
anything, which might make sense.
But the attempt is futile, its nowhere to be found.
No answer, no hint, just so many questions.
And I wonder why the present, which is here, now, this minute,
is all too suddenly yesterday, before, gone.
As I ponder this I notice the black writing of my past
crouching in the corner, waiting to pounce,
perhaps I should leave now say my gold shaded eyes.
I pass by the hourglass and pay it no heed.
For this is today and I live for now.

By: Becky Bite