Beginnings

The cartons lie strewn across the floor,
I've been through each of them in vain.
Five years I've spent in this search...
But rewarded with nothing but pain!
My writings, my feelings I'd stored away,
In a diary I want to write in again...

How hard to pick up a new diary and start
To capture transient moments in ink?!
The book, I fear, may remain fresh,
With no words to write als thoughts to think.
What would I have to look forward to?
Adrift in the wild sea awaiting to sink?

The lost book holds me in a terrifying grip
Egging me on to resume from where I left last
It pushes me into another frenzied search
Possessed I remain by the haunting past...

Devastated I am by another futile search
What now? How do I get out of this lurch?