The Lost Man Poem by Luca Menin

Virgin sirens swearing sails,
above, the harrowing canes
Travel mendicant in the land of golden flags, accompanied by the pathways of a lost man.

He kneels in the ash's and vulture course, ravage fanfare of mildew. Itch blood, flee galloping in his misfortune,
Bows grew moribund drunk, free waste of pang. Gather like flocks roamed of deities' places, canvas of rancid skin, warm faces.
Bliss the sky, cough dusk horizon, falling monsters of fervid light. but family, alas the blue eternity
rock falls gladiolus on his toe, cruel rose.
The mother, who blossoms the womb mute heart,
roam the land, soil of twilight skulls.

Dreamless, rest in cushion of stone's
thunder tresses his childhood, alone.
Enlightened of secular sages
no matter his wildness ages

Sterile timeless, contemplate, the fierceness soul
shed to make a silent of is monotone dooms
useless metal angel glory
lanterns blight, his realm story.