In the Sinking
Venice is sinking, and I’ve got my pen
but what of the words left to say?
The swishing water now laps at the brow
and brilliance has gone to decay.
San Marco awakes, as splashing persists,
they gather to see what’s ado.
A page that is bare can still speak so clear
and nudge yet what’s stirring anew.
The wellies are on, legs plastic appear,
the platform will bridge every step,
but unfolding mind takes snapshot in view,
finds words lack real meaning and pep.
In grandness perceive, the wet bothers none
for FEARLESS, the living is bold.
But words sorted true, to point to a depth
can lose what they bask and behold.
Paula Antonello, Poetry. Copyright: Thursday, January 16, 2020.