Don’t delve around in the mud,
Searching for the lost parts of yourself
In a quagmire of regret and loss.
The lost parts of yourself aren’t there,
And nor are they lost,
For the self watches you over your shoulder
Aware of the mud on your face
And the oily stink between your fingers
As you dredge up your shameful
And sordid past,
Offering yet another ugly
Memory for memory to feed upon.
Instead, climb up upon the bank,
Sit in the sun, allowing your mind
To drift free from the sludge
Of past chronicles.
Your lost self was never lost,
And sits, enjoying the sunshine
Smiling kindly upon your tribulations.
It was you who was lost, not yourself,
Who’s love for you
Was never in question.