Lost in a world, that scares me to death,
Lost in a crowd, I’m losing my breath.
Lost as a boy, lost as a man,
I need to grow up, don’t think I can.
Lost as a person, can’t find my way.
Lost in life, every day.
Lost in worry, who am I?
All my life, I’ve lived a lie.
Lost to kindness, lost to love,
Lost in a sky, like a new-born dove.
Lost in thought, which I shouldn’t do,
It winds me up, I can’t get through.
Lost to comfort, all kind words,
Lost to advice, it isn’t heard.
Lost to those who really care,
All these people, always there.
Lost in me, I need a break,
Lost in wonder, which road to take?
Lost in a place I don’t know well,
Where are you now? There’s no one to tell.
Lost here, all alone,
Lost apart from the mobile phone.
Lost still, there are no calls.
I’m struggling alone, to break these walls.
Lost in mind, lost in soul,
Lost memories, they’re just a hole.
Lost family, lost mate,
Gone now, yet I’m full of hate.
Lost in a straight world, and I am gay,
Lost now, for what to say,
Lost in boredom, think I’ll leave.
There’s a lot in life I need to achieve.
The Epic Stars Poem by Robinson Jeffers
The heroic stars spending themselves,
Coining their very flesh into bullets for the lost battle,
They must burn out at length like used candles;
And Mother Night will weep in her triumph, taking home her heroes.
There is the stuff for an epic poem-
This magnificent raid at the heart of darkness, this lost battle-
We don’t know enough, we’ll never know.
Oh happy Homer, taking the stars and the Gods for granted.
Any Soul That Drank The Nectar Poem by Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
Any soul that drank the nectar of your passion was lifted.
From that water of life he is in a state of elation.
Death came, smelled me, and sensed your fragrance instead.
From then on, death lost all hope of me.
Fauna’s Lost And Found! Poem by s.zaynab kamoonpury
To purses of leather
one lost its skin
One lost its feather
to hats and decors
Another lost its fur
to those mink coats
One lost its tooth
to ivory bangles gosh!
Many lost their lives
to heartless hunters
Not only are they
on animal property encroaching
They are selfishly and greedily
Alas! Alas! Alas!
Woe to that cut throat
fine and fancy fur coat
They lost it all to ruthless
merciless, thoughtless poachers
And even if this lost was found later
and confiscated by officers
Still how do you restore
this lost and found
to their rightful owners?
How do you return a severed tusk to the elephant?
Fur to the lynx cat?
Skinned skins to the python?
Or ripped feathers to the peacock?
And how do you restore life
to the poor dead fauna
As long as poaching is rife
Relax not in beach or sauna.
Peep through binoculars
instead of through guns
Shoot ’em’ with cameras
instead of weapons
O’ hunters shun hunting
with darned shotguns!
A Door Just Opened On A Street Poem by Emily Dickinson
A door just opened on a street-
I, lost, was passing by-
An instant’s width of warmth disclosed
And wealth, and company.
The door as sudden shut, and I,
I, lost, was passing by,-
Lost doubly, but by contrast most,
And Nothing Is Ever As You Want It To Be Poem by Brian Patten
You lose your love for her and then
It is her who is lost,
And then it is both who are lost,
And nothing is ever as perfect as you want it to be.
In a very ordinary world
A most extraordinary pain mingles with the small routines,
The loss seems huge and yet
Nothing can be pinned down or fully explained.
You are afraid.
If you found the perfect love
It would scald your hands,
Rip the skin from your nerves,
Cause havoc with a computered heart.
You lose your love for her and then it is her who is lost.
You tried not to hurt and yet
Everything you touched became a wound.
You tried to mend what cannot be mended,
You tried, neither foolish nor clumsy,
To rescue what cannot be rescued.
And now she is elsewhere
And her night and your night
Are both utterly drained.
How easy it would be
If love could be brought home like a lost kitten
Or gathered in like strawberries,
How lovely it would be;
But nothing is ever as perfect as you want it to be.
I Am Not Yours Poem by Sara Teasdale
I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.
Oh plunge me deep in love- put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.
One Art Poem by Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
– Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.