A new owner or a loser?

Seems to me that I’ve developed a habit of losing stuff and, as if a strange pun of destiny, get back what I lost. And that seems to be the pattern – at different times it was my mobile, jacket, a duffel bag, all finding their way back after being lost.

I set out to write a story
That spoke of a loser
And how he lost.

What is losing, after all
But the temporary misgivings
Of a trampled mind
Where thoughts trickle
Through
Sepia tinted pages
Of a depleted memory

What is losing, after all
But a mere
“Change of owner”
Like they say of Energy
Or the soul
That could only move
From one owner to another

I set out
Searching
For those phantom words
To tell his story
But the words elude me
Much like my fortune
As I keep looking
For my lost words.

What is losing, after all?
Words that just passed
Like the rainless clouds?
Or did the loser just find
A new owner
For the words he lost?