Celebration

A Poem by Giorgio Veneto

(An Iambic tetrameter). A sentimental, spiritual poem

Sea birds have sat on the gray wharf,
my only friends have been the shades
and the transmittance of our days,
floating in the night's ocean surf.

How beautiful the words gather
to build my solitude in warm,
snow white oblivion in the storm,
was I their souls' ideal lover?

And when the bells of Sundays ring
unfair in hope ask you to bloom,
where time's apostasy's my doom,
my words' approach in airs shall cling.

How Oxford blue, the harbor is,
up where the clouds forgot to hide,
fair constellation - unknown bride,
Athena's blessed - ether's aegis?

Sea birds have sat upon the moors;
Sea waves explode in foam and hope,
that lonely stings my stare and scope,
while you withdraw to poems detours.

Along the aural sceptre of morn,
(Soft and inspiring silence is!) ,
your sent across the waters bliss,
heart's beat like cymbals of times mourn.

Mayb' if I prayed to the sea gods,
they would revive our school years play,
return that celebration day,
up where my lines bedizened flawed.

Mayb' if I smiled to wharf's sorrow,
you would return and join in mists,
amid blithe rhymes and palms kissed,
our celebration of morrow.