Poems Should Have Lives of Our Own, You Know

We live in an age of lives
And poems of lives. If you write,
Write your life well for a prize—
Write your sweet, sad, harmed, charmed life.

I’ve lost my life. It’s still here,
But I can’t seem to find it
And don’t know how to write it,
So who cares if I lived it?

Is there a third verse for this?
Tell the truth. Do you crave faith
That the life you lived will live
Its own life, if you tell it?