Blunt brumal thorn

Make of your pain
a musical hymn
And become
a nightingale
become
a tangerine
and a yellow rose
misty years will flash
your pain
will be a dance
your tear
a thorny rose
and I, a pomegranate
and a missed
pentagram note!

Let all your wounds
uncovered
I 'll send
branches of sage
My words
will be on stage
for soothing,
or routes of bliss
Do not cover
those wounds
or your internal red.

Bestow to gods
a red wine
libation
of only contempt
I extol this
bitter attempt
I extort
my days' peace
to be a blunt
brumal thorn
in a bouquet
of yellow roses
So we will dance
or be
sacrifices
to a lesser god.

Make of your pain
a harmony;
offer a dew
of morning mist
upon your wounds'
marginal brim
maintain of your face
a smile thin
as if pomegranates
tasted sweet
maybe this pain
in me became sharp!
and Sirens' call's
my smile's feast.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!