For Mathew When I Might Find Him Poem by Mathew Lewis

Like a book badly written,
A poem badly read,
The things I'll never publish
Are the things I wish I said.

A scene with no conviction,
A song without a rhyme,
Hindsight and wounds that heal
Are a fallacy of time.

A fire burned to ashes,
A mountain blown away,
A river void of water,
A night without a day.

A half of what was hole,
A house that is no home,
A light no longer working,
A garden overgrown.

And all my vague intentions,
Mirror what is here,
Nothing more but obligations
Or a way to hide the fear.

A sky of broken fragments,
An angry jaded heart,
All that’s left to do now
Is to go back to the start.

Perhaps someday I’ll find you,
Asleep but somehow fine,
I’ll break down this façade
Of a life that is not mine.

Regard this then as tribute,
To a life I’m trying to find,
Be this in heart or poetry,
Or soul or even mind.