Giorgio Veneto (Athens, Greece)

My whole life I kept for you, a reason
of annunciated dimensions, prorogued;
my turned to the winds hands, a mizzen,
account on dusks of a bitter monologue.

All of my soul's children hunt storms
first sight of our sun, repleted light's wit;
amid winds of ghostly-dreamy forms,
sounded the Bells of our morning reached.

My pulse yon spreads, on church bells,
rhythm of waves inscribed on time's embers,
escorting me on Sundays, a name I spell,
marked with your return, my dream enters.

When friends, on Sundays invite me to feast,
I see the river of our uprising morning,
You are in dim light, adorning my mist
to love me in the eternity of my soaring.