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Les-Durham smoke

Twas like a transferred odd bargain;
the harbor waited - wraith's silence,
Hope lived in souls - utopian thence,
a notion spelled thrice - and again.

Had sent the mail - my filed advice,
upon moors stood, mist-blurred double-dyed,
the ghosts of sodding souls who died,
dark traveler asked for bride price.

In air he thumped, rhythmic like waves;
and cruel did ask for his death toll;
in town the women wore black stoles,
the 'lost in sea' dwell in void graves;

As Charon hummed, our ship entered,
in this harbor where life's borders,
in verse 'bout cold of rhymed folders;
wake-waters trail was off-centered.

He stood upon the moors - I knew
the wind whipped ropes upon head-mast,
- we drew the guns; he lifted fast;
my shots echoed, debt-law to ensue.

I felt the slug, he moved across,
alread'-a-ghost, on moors he stood;
Tasted the blood - lifted, I should,
red drops dropping on grass and moss.

I lit a rolled Les-Durham smoke,
children were watching me round-eyed;
twas May, perhaps another died,
I heard bells ring and three craws croak.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
Added by Poetry Lover
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