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Best Poems Written by Maurizio Cortese

Below are the all-time best Maurizio Cortese poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Maurizio Cortese Poem

The yeses i left unspoken

How often have I hesitated,
poised on the brink of "perhaps,"
before unknown paths
that whispered my name.
And there, where the threshold opened
in fevered silence,
I denied the wind its wing,
consecrating the moment
to the still womb of my refusal.
The "yeses" I left unspoken
are grains of light
falling from Mary's womb,
while time holds its breath
in the eternal pause of the Annunciation.
They are Peter’s trembling
on the cusp of the rooster’s crow,
a flickering flame
gathered by forgiveness,
reforged into stone.
The "yeses" I left unspoken
are unseen wounds
in the body of the risen Christ,
traces of nails never driven,
silent as Veronica’s veiled face.
They are Gethsemane’s agony
stripped of words,
the sweat that drips blood
among the gnarled roots of the olive tree,
forever awaiting a dove.
Yet even those unspoken "yeses"
rest in the heart of eternity,
like seeds in the deep furrow
of untouched earth,
and already they stir,
woven with grace,
in the mystery of an hour yet to come.
They are hands brushing the hem,
the blind touch that heals,
they are God’s patient waiting,
brighter than any word unsaid.

Details | Maurizio Cortese Poem

Unity of contrasts

The river flows, and in its twisting
it breaks and rebuilds itself,
a perpetual motion that devours itself
and gives birth to time.
It is night in the heart of day,
light in the depths of darkness,
a fire blazing in the silence of the world,
and there, where shadows gather,
lies the seed of lightning.
Everything sings its opposite:
death shapes form,
life corrodes, only to be reborn.
You, who watch,
do not seek peace in form
but in the wound that breathes,
in the broken harmony
that unites the diverse.
Thus the world exists,
in tension,
in flame,
in the eternal struggle that is a dance,
and never peace.
And yet, all is one.
Neither night nor day,
neither peace nor war,
but the still flow of a meaning
no one can contain.

Details | Maurizio Cortese Poem

When They tell you

When one day they tell you
that someone you love
has but weeks to live,
all shifts to another orbit,
time unravels, its threads distorted,
and eternity’s breath grows near and sharp.
Memories rise like unearthed roots,
joy and sorrow entwine,
weaving a fragile veil of light.
Silence becomes a blade,
and each moment trembles with questions:
Where will they drift?
Where will they dwell?
When the final breath
becomes the wind’s offering,
where will it carry them?
Your helplessness unfolds,
a boundless sea without shores.
And so you whisper
that sacred name you hold.
You pray—
not to keep them,
but to release them,
that the mystery may fulfill itself,
that love may transcend into the eternal.
You, who are powerless,
plead for the strength to remain,
step by trembling step,
on the brink of the abyss,
as God, merciful weaver
of the invisible,
gazes tenderly upon you.

Details | Maurizio Cortese Poem

And I still feel

You have walked forty years of love,
and your body, a temple of beauty and scars,
blooms anew like a secret garden,
defying frost and oblivion.
I look at you and still feel that tremor of the eternal,
that suspended moment when the world surrendered,
and your eyes captured mine,
like nets of light cast upon my soul,
binding me in an invisible embrace.
Now your voice, soft yet resolute,
carries the echo of days gone by,
a song resounding like forgotten laughter
woven in the folds of time,
a present that inhabits every corner of my life,
the sound of a joy gathered and never weary.
Your hands, ancient as the first flame,
shape the world in simple gestures.
They cut, mix, and offer,
composing delights to be savored,
as though a single breath,
a fragment, a flicker of warmth
could awaken the familiar faces of others from winter's slumber.
And perhaps it truly is enough—
your invisible gift,
to brush the darkness with the tender wing
of a newly born joy.
You stand there, steadfast and unyielding,
against the weight of time,
against the indifference of days.
You give yourself wholly, without proclamations,
like the dawn that arrives regardless,
even if no one watches.
Then, when your heart beats stronger,
as if to release a joy long held,
a thought surprises you, an insistent flash:
“Why does this peace find me?”
Because in the smile of the one who loves you,
the Mystery reveals its face.

Details | Maurizio Cortese Poem

Where was I

Haunting questions
gather, slow and heavy,
threads of shadow
twining ruin in their grasp:
why did He permit it?
Why them, and not others?
A finger rises,
silent, merciless,
piercing the sky’s veins,
a cry turned to stone,
accusing the eternal.
Yet I do not lay on God
the weight of every wound,
nor shatter silence
with the clamor of doubt.
Instead, I remain,
a vigilant dust,
and within me,
a thought stirs, trembling:
where was I,
a scattered fragment,
when He sketched
the abyss and the light?
When the first breath
stirred the void
and the Word
unfolded on the wind?

Details | Maurizio Cortese Poem

Another manger

What trembling light,
what quiver of eternity
gleamed in the shepherds' eyes,
unaware heralds of an hour
that would shatter time
like a vessel overflowing with heaven.
You wish for the transparency
of that intact heart,
naked of pride and fear,
to draw close to the threshold
of the cave,
where the earth breathes
the miracle that overshadows it.
You long for eyes of crystalline wonder,
pure as the first morning,
to seize the whisper
that transforms the world,
the silent song
that illuminates every distance.
You yearn for trembling lips,
almost like dawn,
to stammer the name
that fills and dissolves everything,
while the star keeps watch,
high, invincible,
above the abyss of time.
Yet that moment belonged
only to the shepherds,
the first fruits of the waiting
of all humanity.
History will not return,
but a threshold remains open,
and if you come much later,
it does not matter:
the mystery awaits.
It is enough to make your heart
another manger,
a womb of silence,
where the Infinite
may be incarnated again.

Details | Maurizio Cortese Poem

What hell is not

Today, hell wears the face of the wind,
a wind that severs breath
and casts night upon the eyes:
wars devouring the dust of time,
hatreds rooted deep into the earth,
silences clutching the world’s heart
like a black fire.
And it seems there is no other voice
but the cry of evil upon evil,
no other path but a good carved
on barren stones,
in the hands of those who dare to impose heaven.
Yet hell can be crossed,
like a burning passage,
like a groaning desert.
One must seek the spark,
the small fire that does not yield,
the word silence cannot devour.

To find what hell is not:
a living branch among the ashes,
a vein of light pulsing
within the wounded body of the world,
and hold it, clasp it,
like a pledge of eternity,
like a flower born of the cross.
To live and to die for this,
for Christ,
where fire becomes lightning
and darkness opens into song,
where hell dissolves
and only dawn remains,
the first eternal dawn.