The speaker of "Lost" feels stuck and confused, and says so again and again. The word "lost" comes back at the end of almost every stanza, like a door closing each time they try to explain themselves. The breeze that opens the poem seems to stand for something large and harmful that takes "dear life away." Judging by the imagery, it could be grief, illness, or some other pain, but the poem never says, and that vagueness is part of its point. The speaker can't name what is wrong either.
What stands out is how honest the speaker is about not understanding. They refuse to be "another phony," pretending to feel or know more than they do. Later the breeze seems to hold them down and bind them, so they can't reach "a helping arm." The mood is heavy, tired, and quietly desperate. The closing lines, "I wish I could... but I'm lost," trail off into an unfinished wish, leaving the speaker exactly where they began.