Lost with Caleb

The tall tress of I forgot which type
loomed over head and ate all direction
for my brother and I as we plunged deeper into lost.
He suggested with desperation a direction,
I denied with short breaths and waxing nerves,
home should be found my way.
The older brother knows which way to go;
so often not the case.

We wound on a street too far from our own
and wandered down through the sterile suburbs,
looking for some sign of neighbors, but found none.
No familiar heroes graced the street signs,
no family flowers or odd standalones we should remember.

It grew colder and dusk crept upon us
as we plunged deeper still into lost.
But finally a firm intersection was found
and our way took shape!
We ran up the hilled street
to the embracing voice of our father,
falling out of the tight web of lost
into the welcoming warm fire and blanket of found!