The Lark
Published in

The Lark

The Lost


Ruvim Miksanskiy

What is this place I find myself this silent night
Without voice or touch to warm my heart
Sky without moon to light my way or hint of sight
Beyond breaths want to see the mornings sky

Seems only yesterday your smile lit the sun
Your tales painted the drab of day
Your presence held the beating heart
A reason for me to stay

Now I find myself neither here nor there
Looking to the distance in preparation
Emotionless distraction of negotiation
Unfocused eyes a glare

What is this place for I must find the egress
Return the world to color and rescue from the distress
Seek the heat of life’s love like the warming of the sun
Living again as if life has only just begun

What is this place that preys upon the lost




The Lark shares fictional short stories and poetry

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Create, Compose traversing subject and medium. To new beginnings, journeys, destinations and the wonderful beings we meet along the way!

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