Lost In The Wind Poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell

How many poems have been lost in the wind
that started to rise but never reached an end?
How many words fluttered but never found wing
to lift off the page and gloriously sing?

How many hearts inspired but too soon to close
whose petals, rain-beaten, are like a red rose
in a garden of vines that grow from the soil
to choke out the lifeblood with unsleeping toil?

How many dreams ebbed before reaching their flow
whose nights stifled the sunlight's passionate glow?
How many hands haunted by the touch of time
pressed into the palms of a nursery rhyme?

How much strength has never tasted its power
or been lost in the minutes that fill an hour?
How hungry the soul that is bound by its roots
but is starved for a taste of the sweeter fruits?

How unlived the life without a joy or smile
that lost its way along the desolate mile?
How blinded the sight of the wandering eye
that recalls not the beauty of earth and sky?

How sacred the saints in sepulchers of sod
that forever confess their sins to their God?
How written is the word that never left pen
buried deep in the minds of unsettled men?

How lost is the lost when yet lost in the wind?
If there is no beginning, there is no end.
So I lose myself until we meet again,
when the last page of my life is closed. Amen.