Lost and Found

by Eric McAnlis, Age 16

But a babe laying naked by fresh cut rye
Without being held I lay and start to cry
What part of salty tears can they not taste
As I saw a slaughter of my feelings waste

Nothing I felt then prepared me for this
Watching the hope fly of my prospect bliss
Out to the streets at the age of sixteen
Not a probable cause, reason, or mean

Walking alone pondering all my scorn
A scar has come, in the shape of a thorn
Pricking were poison still festers deep cuts
Dirty as a dog, and alone as mutts

Songbird sings high even when times seem low
While I sit in shadows like the glum crow
Voices in altitudes I used to feel
Like space travel now they seem so unreal

A friend came to me and said to pretend
The problems are metal, able to mend
I sat up taking with it one hard leap
So hope will be a promise I can keep