Lost

Lost She is all purpose this one, Desperate in her passions Wild and perilous Moods akin to seasons in extreme Her humor, an ocean Roiling, rolling Continuous movement Treacherous False faced and abysmal Hearty and splendid Terrible and opaque Yielding nothing None of its deep seeded truth Beautiful on the surface Shimmering Golden under sunlight Silver in moonshine But dark, deep, Seething and terrible Beneath. She sells sea shells on the seashore….. And throws a tantrum or two Eyes of sky Turn to ice Poetry, to venom. In the garden she walks midst the multicolored beds of slowly wilting flowers the serpent ever watchful while her hero sleeps blissful and unaware happy in his ignorance mighty in his folly king of his world dismembered by his own Member upstart idol, cyclopean god. Rage lends her beauty And her wild fury Madness. There is futility in her ways Like a reed to every wind This way that way Swaying I see no truth Only lies on lies Until Standing at the height of a pyramid One sees all but knows nothing Only murky horizons and gloom laden skies In her eyes I see reflection Upon her tongue Sits a stranger. To Babel I came In the noon hour of spring And they all spoke in tongues So there was no understanding between us. Yet in the first we were like brothers Knew one another from a crowd of millions Chose to walk astride each other Against the flow Braving the tide Until wearied by toil We were washed away And lost. Carlos