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.