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
Copyright © Carlos Debattista | Year Posted 2013
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