First Sorrow

Unknown face that you clearly see,
while the night hides the apparition;
Hands outstretched, waves on a quay,
caress your grimace with contrition.

Gifts of the air now define your life,
you have escaped in the morning mists,
Sunday afternoon cuts you like a knife,
Or maybe you answered to the winds?

Suns you transformed to rain oracles,
in airy corridors amid winds blither,
distant stars of solitude and miracles
where your Sundays in coldness dither.

Twas when you packed your own response,
- the roar of the sea, a tear to borrow;
you lifted choices to become ensconced,
- you were of your first life, prime sorrow.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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