Where does a thought go
once it’s been forgotten?
If I found the hidden world
for lost thoughts,
would I befriend them? Would I
stay?
I would like to ask them
if they remember choosing the color of the walls,
or if they realize that the paint is fading with memory,
and if they care about either.
I want to ask:
When was the last time the daisies drank,
and how long has it been since they laughed?
I want to ask
if they feel abandoned,
hopeless,
purposeless.
Do they know they have been forgotten?
Do they believe they are lost forever?
If I met a lost thought,
would I bring it home,
make it my own,
turn it into something beautiful?
If I met a lost thought,
I wonder if I’d see myself.
If a lost thought met me,
would it bring me home,
make me its own,
turn me into something beautiful?
Perhaps I am a lost thought myself.
I wonder if I remember
picking the paint for the walls of my heart,
or if I’ve watered my roses today.
If I found this hidden world
with its chipped paint that no one chose
and the flowers they forget to grow,
I wonder if it would feel like home.
But perhaps
there is a difference between all these lost thoughts
and my own lost self—
if I am lost,
I will be found again.
Not abandoned,
hopeless,
purposeless.
This lostness is but temporary;
and now that I put pen to paper,
I know that I won’t find myself in lost places.
I will be found
where the sunflowers grow.
So, goodnight, hidden world.
I no longer search for you.
Cindy Green is a forest-wandering, poetry-scribbling stargazer with messy notebooks and messy thoughts. Despite her love for all of God’s creation, sunflowers and stars in particular have a way of sneaking into both her writing and her heart (but you won’t hear her complaining about it). She is an amateur sword-wielder with a Highland-dancing warrior spirit who also writes letters to the moon and considers the sky her best friend. A focused daydreamer, organized pack rat, and oblivious observer, she is a self-professing ambivert (or a living contradiction) who deeply feels both the beauty and fallen state of the world. Through her words, she hopes to describe the indescribable and form personal connections with people while reflecting a love for her Savior and a passion for everything she touches.
Cindy your words are so lovely. They will my heart with joy and my eyes with tears. <33
*fill
Cindyyyyyy….this. ❤️🌻🐿
My heart… wow.
This is… this is just so beautiful. I love how it just muses and wonders and wanders right down, and as it seems like the whole thing’s just about to fade away, you surprise us with the lovely conclusion that is so true! I love it so much, Cindy <3 Bravo!
Very interesting. I liked the way you flowed in and out and held a broken rhythm. It’s almost like Whitman but with a touch of drifting. Very interesting and most definitely like the slow swirling of a stream in summer.
It’s almost like you were threading the words into a sheet that eventually made it all the better.