ANCIENT BULWARK: A poem dedicated to Pope Francesco
By Franca Colozzo
Lonely in the sea, averse to storms,
ancient bulwark I'm going to gaze
when the turmoil quiets of the waves
and of the sky, a calm mirror appears.
Then a choir of seagulls rises,
whose cries tear my heart apart.
There is a lack of fish in the seabed,
only plastic emerges everywhere.
Now I remember past seasons
while I am intent on observing
algae, shells, and sea creatures ...
So remote that time seems,
I never saw in my life years
so terrible and sudden destructions.
Swift is the wind of decay,
much more than the coexistence
of an upright world, prone to reason,
of Pace true builder in this season.