More... or Less... Lost

There's a place along the spectrum of lost and found 

Where I sit with my legs dangling over

It's breezy up here, and the spectrum, like all spectrums

Is not a very comfortable ledge

It's not meant for sittng

You're not supposed to dawdle

You're supposed to keep moving along the line

But I've just gotten tired of being more or less lost

So I've sat down to dangle my legs

It is, after all, my spectrum

I guess you just die one day and they'll say things about you

Things like, "Lately he'd been a little out of sorts." 

Another way of saying "more lost than usual"

Or things like, "He went around making people smile..." 

Another way of saying "more found than usual"

The measurable degrees of lost

Sitting on one of them now, with my heels sweeping the abyss

We could just move the end called "Found" over here

But I'd know better, like setting the clock ahead 15 minutes to avoid tardiness

More lost today I think, certainly more than two days ago

I can barely remember my own name

The numbing cold of the lost has set in

I know I should stand and walk to where the found are mingling

I can hear their laughter, sometimes pink, sometimes blue

And always a long ways off

"I was just there", I think to myself

"Where the found are sipping mango tea or Dr. Pepper"

Going means leaving something back

Becoming less lost is always such a hard bargain

Here in the cold, it's only the impostors who sit and stay too long

And such quiet company, the lull of the distance, the cold breeze

I'm now one of them, a long way from the oppressive freedom of having been found

Truly found

Where your heart beats on the outside of your chest

How I miss that weightlessness 

And stripping down to the skin

What am I doing with these fools here in the cold?

Today... just hanging my heels somewhere, more... or less... Lost.