Skye Lost Poem by Laurence Overmire

There is a thought that comes to me
On Skye
As the wind whips through the heather
Swaying on the purple hillside
Peaks of long knowing
Cloaked in the mists of time lost days

I try to hold on, to keep what is evident
In mind
But the drift of the place is old
And the uselessness of trying to be
Present gives way to a solitude that
Isn't of this time and place

Something takes hold of me
Steals my breath
Carries it out to sea
Every last piece of myself
Broken
Collected somewhere
Perhaps
On some fantastical shore

Perhaps

Perhaps then
If I can find it
I can find myself
But for this moment
I am gone
I am nothing

I never was

And nothing matters
Not even me.

~ Laurence Overmire

(Previously published in The Ghost of Rabbie Burns, Indelible Mark Publishing,2016)