Lost
It was a restless wind that took her
In ever wakeful gales blowing
Blanketed by swollen clouds of rain-building
And an angry thunder ever growing;
Unfolding in perfectly stitched sheets pelting
Embroidered in the lightenings porcelain flash
A tempest entwined in threads of past emotions static
With no salvation-came the unforgiving Thunders crash;
Alas, no survivors of this storm
Lost in the mystery of the unknown Deep
No reprieve-no illusions tossed
'Neath fathoms-came the endless sleep;
poem by Theodora Onken
Added by Poetry Lover
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