Promise
The rotten smell of death and putridness
in my dejected state of loneliness
in the outrageousness of your departure
leaving me a victim in the clutches of nightmarish harpies
brings me to the bottom and the end of my existence;
lost and lonely in the sea of barbarous vulgarity,
I can but sigh in pain against my fate
that never will allow me to remain in you.
Are we then dead because of this unwanted separation
to each other, since the line is broken,
our communications stifled and our contact gagged
by fate in silence and enforced passivity?
My roaring heart speaks otherwise;
and although all the tyrannies around the world may triumph,
our love shall overcome them all,
survive them all and bring them even lower down
than we can ever be brought down by them.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2008-06-16 at 13:28
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