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The child of the seas

Poseidon gurgles us up
In his rolling arms
Lined with sharp foam
To the dark abysses
 
These untimely dramas
Irrigate our thoughts
Which dry up, beached,
Bitterly easy to drink*
 
[in Italian] Faceless shipwrecks**
The castaway child without a face***
Only fourteen years old
His report card in his pocket
 
Oh! Afflicted bitter mothers
I think of you
That the calm before the storm could soothe you
From this inveterate pain
Which invades me
 

I have dreamed of poetry

Like on a masterpiece
Where the perspective seems clearly
Designed by a clothesline
Fleeing to a sleeping sun
There on the horizon
 
From the first to the third plan
Every word stayed stretched out
With clothes pegs
And every letter hung up
One upon the other
 
Dangling like this
In a slight movement
Created by the earth's breeze
Under the tonalities of Monet
Such a sun is rising
 
I felt these wet words
Heavy and washed
After having been drowned
In a violent tempest
Of rolling waves
 
The wretched words waited wearily
In latent expectation
To finally be gathered
In order to be piled up, crumpled up
Simmered, to be given rhythm
To be returned then displayed
 
Offering them a new clothesline
Wound with sense
Leading around a sleeping sun
Fleeing behind the singing horizon
 
Singing
Singing
I hear the gospels
 
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Evander

3- You are gone, my only one

You are gone
my only one.1
Lifeless, wilted,
smashed on an anvil,
so leaves me your death,
your flight.
 
In this lonesome world
where voices from the deep
already raged in your mind,
fear overcomed your brothers.
They left you in the clutches
of your overjoyed demons
and shortsighted killers.
 
Killers, killers
to whom we turned to
for countless years
to relieve the pain
of my older brother,
what did you do?
 
Nothing.
 
Oh, the sickened anger I feel
against this world turning a blind eye.
Unsuspected robbers
of our dearest ones.
 
You are gone
my only one.
Lifeless, wilted,
smashed on an anvil,
so leaves me your death,
your flight.
 
A strange feeling
that squeezes me in its vise.
A muted scream
helplessly facing
this machinery
corrupted by power.
 
You are gone
my only one.
Robbers of corpses
that you throw to the dogs
overlooking your clerical errors.
 
Bereft of my mourning,
I wander aimlessly now.
A world of utter filth
that lashes out
even at our dead, our own blood
with an immaculate conscience.
 
Can you find rest in this place
where they laid you down by mistake
before we could say our goodbyes?
You are gone
my only one.
Gone like a pariah,
you the wise poet,
my master,
your aura wrapped in purity.
 
You are gone
my only one.
Lifeless, wilted,
smashed on an anvil,
so leaves me your death,
your flight.
 

• 1. lit. 'death, death, love , love'. I tried to render the rhyme and rhythm