Analysis of lost words

I cannot find the words,
and have looked through every page,
like distant summer birds
that cannot live in winters age.

I flip through inspiration,
reading volumes, but alas,
where is imagination
in the remnants of dead ash.

I call the currents of the wind
to fill my eager eyes,
but in the memory of my mind,
its beauty swiftly dies.

Where is the hope and glister
of the dreams I treasured so,
where is the gentle whisper
of the stars in wonders glow.

Where is the mornings sunrise
singing with a thousand birds,
where is the silver moonrise,
lost, with volumes full of words.