Untitled | tincanpenman | Poetry

Like the kid running after a kite
That in the end would fly out of sight,
Leaving him stranded alone;
Like that kid, I'm pining for your voice
To call me back, even after my poor choice,
Find me down blind winding alleys where I roam;
To make me feel still loved,
Still wanted,
Still needed, 
When all my hopes I've ceded,
To make me feel still whole,
And to guide my steps back home.