the forsaken

the forsaken the bloodhounds moan and snarl the searchlights cut ragged rips in the fabric of night and somewhere behind all this chaos i hear your voice calling my name as you wind your way through the forest and the underbrush through the swamp past the rocky ridges and through every word i have ever written all in the hope of finding me i can hear you coming i can hear the hoof beats of the horses and the cursing of the men you have hired to find me in this jumble of thoughts and even when the trail goes cold you remain undaunted and whisper to your closest companion that you must find me find me here or find me there dead or alive it does not matter along the way in the villages and the towns people have said to you "Let it go ... he is lost and gone" and i suppose you grimace with disdain never giving up the search until after all the years of searching and through all the minutes of hoping you still feel alone and abandoned believing that what was once so complete i could and would complete again Copyright © Kennedy James, 2010. All rights reserved.