lost

Lost in the wilds . . . alone

We cling to trees. . . to stone. To reeds ... to bone

Or... lie face down in grass

Seeking forgetfulness

Of how we stumbled into this place . . Of why we have no home.

There is no one here . . . to us. They call, but we cannot hear. They touch, but we cannot feel. They come, but we do not see, (Locked within ourselves . . . our own high prisons Blot out light,

Hoard the night,

Count dark treasures.)

Will we find the key

In the grass?

In the wood?

In the stone?

Is something hidden

In the bone... To bring us out, To make us one?

-Sten Russell

Copyright 1958 THE LADDER (Reproduced by Permission)

M.E.

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