Treasure Island

Luca Menin


Air blow sad...


Air blow sad from the cloud nest.
At the endless god blesses, and angel splendours,
kiss of beauty; the gazelle vulgar fly
impressed like the empty shells, where tears blow loud,
memories through winging woodlands.

Discreetly revenges, at spells of whispering sounds.
Often quiet, I love the pity of life, grave by the earth irony.
Like a sword duel on the sands,
River of reins and whip mountain,
greedy carry the bright triumph of seas' fist.

Beneath the gullet of the spurts' sky
raising marching vermilion fields'
song of shore, remind me of lilies' reef.
Willow's despairing, ducks wounded of charming autumns.
Could they be mad, drunk by the vine shadow around?

Sobs gardens quite cry, marvellous fireflies shade.
Lantern of the night on the bushes' paws.
Radiant shine on the blinking night, drifting weeping shack of air.

Vast splendour of exquisite torrents' springs,
chaste calmly the horizon consoles
the joyful sing, like the birds stroke verse.
It rang the marble sun to pure sight.

Beneath the tree, tremble with light.
Fools flowers, of charming Colour
Swaying quiet, like flutes of gleaming swans.
Run by the rhythm water,
Tearful, shy and bright.

Submitted: Monday, May 14, 2012
Edited: Friday, August 10, 2012

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