One of those quarrels...
But this quarrel is ancient now – so now it can be told...
She quarrels like hellfire sparkling,
wounding my soul with the sharpest of daggers galore,
like the soldiers of Rome shot down poor Saint Sebastian with forty-one arrows.
She beats me with her entire being in smothering violence,
destroying my spirit and knocking my head off,
turning my eyes out so that I no longer can see her,
benumbing my ears with her totally outstanding ire.
There is hardly anything left of me as I retire
on staggering feet not to see her again,
but still unhurt I smile, for I know,
that she scolded me only for love.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 569 times
Written on 2006-10-09 at 10:12
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
But this quarrel is ancient now – so now it can be told...
The Quarrelling Dame
She quarrels like hellfire sparkling,
wounding my soul with the sharpest of daggers galore,
like the soldiers of Rome shot down poor Saint Sebastian with forty-one arrows.
She beats me with her entire being in smothering violence,
destroying my spirit and knocking my head off,
turning my eyes out so that I no longer can see her,
benumbing my ears with her totally outstanding ire.
There is hardly anything left of me as I retire
on staggering feet not to see her again,
but still unhurt I smile, for I know,
that she scolded me only for love.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 569 times
Written on 2006-10-09 at 10:12
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
Kathy Lockhart |
