The mast hangs fore
The mast hangs fore, so we bear with the land,
searching a birth; I check at the the binnacle,
and boards her up; Ease the helm, bear up-cond,
Pervasive Euclidean theorems, and the pentacle.
Voices echo from the land, in acerbic acrimony,
Angels' hymns soothing sound to slowly sharpen
biting vibes in the gusts consented disharmony,
respectfully strike the Flag, Hail to mishappen.
Accented voices, still so pleasant, effectual;
Comely draw in foggy forms, eerie on distance,
invulnerable were we, to bewitched end unequal;
threatening darkness favored fog's outdistance;
Airy she fares, inside the gust, devilish wind,
to eliminate my vacancy, so I fear, to be alive,
maybe she will vanish, aphotic dame in dark lint,
in roads adept, without her dusky aura connive!
Askance 's the wind, to attenuate, blows of Omen,
trivially amid the masts, he whistles a trifle,
upon the thwart standing aloft, indebted Yeoman,
of her virtuous glance, bedizened, airy skiffle.
She smiles deplorably in clouds immoral, dreadful,
redemptive just to kiss my lips, nifty, angelic,
aerial of nothingness to enliven but so hurtful,
in darkish scents, me to abnegate in Hades relic.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Added by Poetry Lover
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