AT DAWN IT WAS
Joseph Berolo 1934 (Bogotá)
At dawn it was
911
When at dawn in lazy path barely appearing,
the morning was filled with sorrow
the dream was gone in darkness
¡Cannot be! To have loved so much
the bridal nubile feel,
a light so brief,
turned a wreaked charm.
So big a passion, the wind, the rain,
the blue beyond.
¡Oh! the abyss of age,
the ringing of the bells
in faulty towers of unearthed harvest,
the dawns of boiling veins,
the whispers of ghostly diaries
, the taste of roses dead in broken vases,
the anguish of the Calvary,
the longest hour of the climb.
¡Cannot be!
Abandoned breathing candles
In the darkest clouds of the myth,
delirium, painful sores... the dark.
About this poem
the dawns of boiling veins, the whispers of ghostly diaries , the taste of roses dead in broken vases, the anguish of the Calvary,
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Submitted by aveviajera on December 09, 2022
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 40 sec read
- 1 View
Quick analysis:
Scheme | XX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAXAXXX |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic trimeter |
Characters | 677 |
Words | 136 |
Stanzas | 2 |
Stanza Lengths | 2, 21 |
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"AT DAWN IT WAS" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 13 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/146335/at-dawn-it-was>.
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