The Delights of Being Lost.

The camera’s settings were off.
The picture turned blue, A strange coloration
far more compelling than what you envisioned.

You get lost in the countryside in a strange country.
Really lost, and end up in a pub and inn
far more delightful than anything planned.

Your day blows up. Nothing goes according to plan.
At the end of it you go quiet,
appreciating the silence more than you do
on a normal night.

You are divorced. Your life goes black for a time.
Your soul is bloodied and part of you is missing.
In time, you build a new life in a new place
and rediscover a man you like and respect anew.
Yourself.

You meet a woman for coffee. No plans.
No hopes. Just conversation for someone you like.
You like her still. You married her, still intoxicated.

And you ask me why I don’t worry too much
when plans go awry. Somehow, it seems,
God does a better job fixing me
than I do living me.

About this poem

This poem could have had dozens of stanzas. I just picked a few things to get the point across.

I am lost a lot. Not directionally. Lifely.

The poem was inspired by my stumbling on this picture I mistook in the quarry across from my home.

Tom