The Place That Dosen’t Exist

Some say not all those who wander are lost.

I do not agree.

For I can tell that those who say it

Haven’t looked, or simply cannot see.

Because when you look inside

A wanderer’s soul, a wanderer's eyes,

It is easily seen how lost one is able to be.

For deep, deep down inside those eyes-

Protected by the skull,

Hidden within the brain,

And well concealed by the soul,

Is a whole other world.

It may be a forest.

It may be a field.

For some it’s a sea.

Others might have a maze.

Some could even have a small town.

But is is a place that is their own.

A place they want to be.

A place that once you are inside,

Makes you want to never leave.

A place that wherever it is,

One thing does not change

And that is the pain you can so clearly see.

From sad mockingbirds’ songs

To the towns’ absent ‘ding-dongs’

It will reverberate

From the breeze, waves, and walls.

Yes, you heard correct

That sorrowful, sad, sound

Is the place calling to be found.

You hear the loss,

And anguish,

And grief;

And the absence

Of the wanderer

That the place knows belongs.

For you see,

That is the real reason we wander.

So that we might find

The place that doesn’t exist.

This is why we are so lost,

Lost forever.

Looking for the place we belong.

The place we yearn to be.

The place that cries, to us, for us.

That place that doesn't exist.

We are lost forever in this world

And we know it.

We are lost but we don’t want to be found.

We are lost and we know we need to seek;

Even if in our heart;

We know we never will.

Yet we still try-

We still look.

We still listen.

We still take that extra glance

Whenever something seems amiss;

When something just isn’t right.

Just wanting,

Hoping,

Praying,

That we will find the evidence,

The proof we want to be there-

The proof we know is not there,

Of the place that doesn't exist.