All Is Lost
I the empty, I the sleeping ghost,
thorn and chalice, least imbued with most.
Here the desert, hear the tortured wind,
bright with sorrow, lost the spirits pinned.
Then the poison, then the twisted clone,
fierce and timid, fierce to stand alone.
Now the outcome, now the withered truth,
gone the folly, gone the foolish youth.
There the forest, theirs the blackened tree,
deep within, the grief of death’s decree.
You the whirlwind, you the woken ghost,
fear and loathing, lost the dying host.
12th February 2019
Copyright © Lawrence Sharp | Year Posted 2019