Hidden

Something is hidden so deep inside,
Yet it seems to radiate your entire being.
It was nothing once or was disguised as such:
The soulful lust for oblivion.
Defines us in a place, observed as stoic, sea-hemmed, antique Greece.
Who holds the secret: God, the Devil, the Holy Ghost?
It draws us down the subtle dark energy of space.
It populates a town, even contours the presence of love.
Detaching us from our avaricious appetites,
You live through as in a dream
to reveal to men your harrowing theme:
What we have but can never truly be.
Homer knew, Tennyson replied:
A forlorn Siren haunts with her undulating cry.