Point of Origin

Miss me.
Getting lost in the thoughts
Following the not so parallel lines in the
Plane of operation.
Miss me.
Talking nonsense in the
Dead of night like the howling of the
Lonely Wolves surrounding a mountain.
Miss me.
Wishing truths to arise from the
Jibber-jabber spoken as if
Lying here will bid a puzzle whole again.
Miss me.
Tossing rice to the hunger of the
Child who was never found to be
Forgotten by an unknown point of origin.
Miss me.
A cup from which liquid was discarded, however
Quenching it may have been.
Miss me.
Seeing this now desert land will never
Know Snow again, but Oh! Does the
Snow miss melting in the heat.
Miss me.
Knowing a cold-blooded animal
Living in summer is taught- Do not miss
The Snow.
Miss me.
Living in summer, leaving the Snow
Beneath the unturned stone alongside
Pandora’s unopened box.
Miss me.
Forever to remain Snowing down the
Regrets of a summer’s eve.
Miss me.

9-23-2010