Forelands
A commotion runs amid my mind
a crush was, on the track barrier,
and the flight; with winds to bind,
where our childhood voices alter.
I went high; in paths of negation,
Steady to aim at my engagement,
do not consult your one desolation;
and your lone dark star adornment.
Was it your call? Amid woodlands,
shadows cast your dusk and crying,
stand tall; on conceived forelands,
a pasture you once loved 's undying.
With bells of home Church ringing,
on each Sunday you 'll hold the tear;
twas against a soldier's upbringing,
to let solitude comrade you near.
How far is that trustful apparition,
of words and forms we twined in air,
to write a word string, my ambition,
that led you far from unlit despair?
How far is a holly legion of angels,
a principal star that leads you nigh,
entreats communion in our chapels,
little iced rain and our clouds high?
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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