☆ one has to get a little lost ☆

One has to get a little lost

To be found

To crawl up the dark meadows

Inch oneself with the grip of fingernails

Through black cornfields 

And cold stones scraping against rib bones

Put one swollen pink finger In your mouth at a time

And wrap each in cloth for the night

Surley, one day, we will be alright

And before you sleep on the wet moss

under the pine tree

Sit in the dark with the moon

For a moment it listens

And waking the next night to inch and crawl

You do it in hope

One day you will know

Know why you scrape against the earth

And where you are crawling and inching to

To one day

Know all along

You were searching for the sun