Where do they go,

those words that hold his thoughts,

do they slip out of sight as he hurries to express them,

subtracted in an instant, lost in time,

lurking somewhere between the dawn and dusk,

his 'was to be' thought vanished,

as he stood, eyes glaring at me,

his mind forgot what his "to be", exactly was,

intombed by an unknown force,

and his brain remains limbo,

for what has not returned,

releasing not one spontaneous utter,

we made a box today,

a thinking box,

of cardboard and crayons,

with many words we exchange,

where other lost thoughts,

once paced time,

"somewhere out there in the cosmo, there's an important thought that lingers",

so we went into thought together,

two thinking thoughts are better then one,

forcing our entry, in time,

my son and I,

I hold him, he holds me,

retracing the path that brought him before me,

together we'll find it,

the hidden thought in the dark tomb,

I know its there, in distant space,

we do this pattern often, searching for the "has been thought",

waiting for a return,

its a part of autism, that strains the mind,

a shelter so hard to understand,

somewhere it is,

slipping through time,

lying there alone,

my heart drip tears inside, unknown to him,

these stages come and go,

where words are placed, in an empty shaft,

then he looked at me,

he remembered,

after endless hours faded away,

his thought reappeared,

never knowing we could bring it back,

but we did, together,

his 'has been" is now "to be"!

Written by: Valerie Pearson

copyright2003ValeriePearson