The poets contrive
I have nothing to complain for, not even of one
I am thankful for all, conceived in mind, to stun
it is because my garden blooms, and soul strives
and my ancestors salute from their distant lives
Memories visit me and mostly make me care,
they turn the key of remembrances on my door,
and I accept their oddity of call. Maybe I enroll
a frivolous romantic, on this supercilious stare.
People claim their life, was a tragedy! My God
what a falsehood to live upon! A baited fishing rod
to catch me in their transient support of riddance,
I laugh, as there is no mercy in their cold glance
I 've seen poets! Yes, noble, mysterious souls
with words to kiss a remote heart, a boat's tholes
supporting our rowing oars of efforts. A caress
explaining the bliss of a Naiad or curse of an Ogress.
Their face is next to a window, a frown of thinking,
as they watch the finishing ends, as dusk is sinking,
our shadows exit to the streets, from our boats berth
I care for that verse of still, poets contrive or death?
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Added by Poetry Lover
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