DE PROFUNDIS I want to be rhetoric. Must I live this? The cycle is ended but the ash Is warm because my blood fluxes And streams like an undertow Which defies The end, written Here where everything began. The shape, the omens demand That every man must come Where his some shadow started To live this. I mean eight essential years Fought against the vapid dullness Of a time that pretends that The core of God is melted and An angel can be the heir of what Will come after the harvest. The richness of the ears, the yellow That outperform a paradise Where the abundance chokes The booming of my madonna's lily The epiphany of what I have always been. But if the empire falls, If I am the last man who thought Carmine ideas of muscles and dew, I'll sip my same presence, Becoming pure nothing As it had to be. The desert buzzes. Will be flies Black as demons and white flaps Of a rain that brings demure. My coat, my pen, my banner Are going to be rock And dive into a silence That is like the voice of God. A cell, a mirror, The idea of itself. My consciousness, my love Farewell, we are to continue Because we won't die And we will be nonentity as These men are. What remains is the stem, In the end it will be Only the sex, But I was a Madonna, an angel The incarnation because I gloat over your features, My features. Those blonde hair, Those blue eyes Wet of sea. Come on. Let's die. I mean. Let's live this fall Where the memory will be dark And the blue eyes burnt. THE FALL The perfect storm Rages on a land suffering labour and Abstract throes when the time Is upset and storms the last Border which was between good and Evil. But the roar benumbed us. I was torn apart and they Injected venom and fire in The glass, in that vessel Which can't keep the steam Which is iron red and flows With the blood to burn The brain cells. I want to be calm on my Rhine And wait for a barbarian Called chaos that swells from The weather, from the rain As my forefathers did, defending themselves Against an enemy that it's called hell. We are men, not barbarians But this time the evil is in us Because we can't remember what we are. But a man if he is a man Must defend his paradise, What's mortal freedom Pegging away against everything. If the problem is his, Against himself. War against war. Truth against truth. Blood against blood. But to mark a landmark It's an evidence you have not bent To the everlasting fire which Wants to land. I will be annihilated, Not killed But reduced to a nonentity. This is fate and They'll rape my fairy But i feel nostalgia Of the thrush Of the wet kisses of grass. I am wind I'll tell that it's not true To betray the innate. This is witnessing, martyrdom, An unavoidable fate. But if this is the last War, we'll fight with smiles. We'll fall like flowers Telling that spring is not hot fire But wind. We were man We were sent To quest for sense. ALISSA
I donít want to tell you her name Because I canít say she is a part of my life whereas there are slivers of crystal In her walking along the wet streets. It a sign which wakes the wilted thing from their slumber, their wreck. During this Summer the comprehension decayed and Ended up denying the spell of being here and thenÖalive I tell the truth, the names of the constellations are not Enough, She is a thought for me, too living for my winged birth but the spirited blood can resemble the flight of a bird and what I lost is bound to be forgot, In the wind, in my attar, because a mix of lines and colours is her scant silhouettes and the weight of an old divinity is turned into feeling like the walking of Spring whose collapse nurtures the whitened weakness of light. Then, I had a naked sparkle, her ring of what I say, a piece of Spring, a martyrdom of Europe in the smell of her same sweat, dropped on my hand but it doesnít track, because a sexual meaning canít back up whatís the real bath of sexual desire. I mean I had a bath and I was let to be caressed By the illusions which shock Along the blue marina, along the triumph Of the deepest tone of this marred sky. Because there arenít only fires of loves, there are odysseys which led to confuse a new faith in the thing which a morass mud. Because I come into this mood And I was almost ready to settle down, To find a new position in Godís design and Forgive the overwhelming chaos which encircles me. So I could say, ďI amĒ, Where a slow mouth of river chants how slow can be the life of Time And I can be here not as a tyrant, but As friend of the whole creation Which made Francis smile. I couldnít eat the space, the fear of light Which underlines the infernal desire to possess Every kind of hell, Against the phenomena of omen and men. However, let this flux shape A new quick flesh for my soul. You can approach the space in a glance And be silent like the stars You came out to see. And this glance is not only friendly, but Comprehensive and cradles and puts at their ease The young Tragedies I run into. So the Winter flakes, this innuendo escapes, full of an envious joy When running to the edges Of the Human Self means I am Here to do and this punctual Essence of cocoon can be borne Because is perfect like the moon Which acts to be the sun, Alissa drives me crazy because This humour is beyond me, beyond my tragic spleen whereas I appreciated this rising of showering mood, Her clumsy dance, Her prancing like a young charming Witch among the wood who lets Her be an elegiac presence in my soul. The sweet world has gone away with me. Chaos rules, but I found a human vestige and her eyes are green like The ones my soul had when I was born and now I get the chance Not to have a doom but write an elegiac chant. The rain taught me my last fairy tale.