183. Abandoned
Come and rest a while, my love,
you must be tired, since you worked so hard
escaping from the heart of darkness and the savage hunters
who made you a scapegoat for their vices
and bereft you everything - for nothing,
for some petty theft, as if you were a person to be robbed,
the poorest thing I ever knew,
whom I so gladly would have given everything
but who was proud enough to give me thanks for nothing,
independence being more worth than the highest treasure,
liberty and sovereignty being not for sale.
What can I give you, then? What can I do for you?
I am afraid I can't do anything
except of course continue to adore you
and sustain my love for you the more persistently
and diligently for your distance and departure
and the hopelessness of that impossibility to reach you.
They have alienated you from me, your only perfect lover,
all those other lovers, who just wanted to annoy you,
use you up by their destructive despicable opportunism
while your ideal lover let you get away
and was the only one to piously leave you in peace,
while you have fooled them all and cheated them of all their love,
escaped their baseness and made them all cuckolds
while the only one who really lost you,
your most faithful lover, I myself, yours truly,
is the only one who still possesses you,
the dreamer, who in losing you
has only as the only one secured you,
being one with you in spirit and in fate,
more bound to you than any law agreement can ensure
and being with you the more definitely now
for being lost without you.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2006-09-06 at 17:02
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