Tall like a scythe
All strange calls want to decry,
as my delusion will comply,
with blossoming my Crimson free,
splatter my odd kind of entity.
My winds are blowing benign,
every invitation a lonely sign,
of an afternoon's sunset toll,
or an alliteration's deign call.
My calls a sea gull's bluish flight
I invited you in lonely bight,
My role in life in vain Crusades,
orderly guided Angels Brigades.
I value my solitude in causes lost
One Apocalypse of imposed frost,
that fails to promote my crying
to iced lines of deathly line.
My logic divided a dual prism,
Ideal truth relies on this truism,
realities shine thus asunder,
Your advent is a Naiad's wonder.
A bluish fringe, hope's silken lint,
a scent of mountain wild mint,
Atropos unrolls a purple twine,
after my libation of crimson wine.
Words I expected from an angel,
in mind a crown on chapel temple,
maybe my love became a flower,
my vows have built a thorny tower.
So often I have fought for glory,
this is my asymptotic story,
a kiss to falter in dim despair,
my soul in prowess in ether's fare.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.