AS HIMSELF

La mia foto
Roma, Italy
He was born in a lazy tuesday.Just purple flowers around his cradle.Silence and purple flowers.The ancient Fathers whisper their secrets in his ears, before he went away, stolen by the wind, blessed by the moon."You are a travelling man" they said him.The roads of his life were just placed in the other side of our world, but when he became a man he felt the emptiness of the desert,and the acrid smell of the asphalt from the streets of the unknown. So he began writing poetry, singing against the night walls, searching for his home, taking his bag. He was a travelling man. And that's just a chosen destiny tale.

venerdì 29 febbraio 2008

Sinfonia n.1 (Al Mare in Tempesta)

S’infrange tonante,
saggio d’Apocalisse,
proemio stridente
del crollo d’Atlante.

S’innalza, si gonfia,
avvolge e rivolta,
poi cade, s’inonda,
dolente s’imbriglia.

Emerge spumoso,
mano d’onda imperante
pone Tifone
titano, gigante.

Scroscio potente,
gorgoglio d’Inferno,
sovrasta, è suadente.

Riparte, riemerge,
cavalcata angosciante,
riscende, sommerge,
grida di ferro agghiacciante.

Poi, c’è risacca, groviglio umiliante.

Il Tridente emana il verdetto:
nuovo mulino straziante,
crescente si mira,
l’urlo si fa martellante,
vanità d’ira.

Valchirie guerriere,
tremano scogli e barriere

che’l crollo del globo
sorgerà in questo legame
tremendo, proibito
tra l’uomo tradito
e l’animo oscuro del mare.


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