lost mountain theres no through pass
just as a man might ask the way to lost meaning
we wander the panhandle of this earth
but the slipstream of time never knows our destiny
like a mother its child
some touch the face of God and pass
others wander with no tribune to emulate
knowing his passage is indifferent
for some anonymous seamless river
ferries all beneath a blanket of stars to a night which is dark and eternal
as if the past can be remembered at all like a cipher
the truth about the world is that there is no truth
questions beg answers like some street corner mendicant
advertises his words of homeless despair on a piece of cardboard
a pillow crossed at his feet
he knows the insult of pennies cast
in a world devoid of meaning
yet brim full of wealth
God bless you they write
Flynnpoetry 