THE MORTAL ILLNESS
Massimiliano Badiali
THE
MORTAL ILLNESS
A
terrible
obsession’s void
inside
of me rumbles:
It
has the Hell voice
At
the top of desperation:
Why
a vocation
Had
not I like a supernatural gift?
Why
in the rosary of days
I
am closed in a temptation circle
And
damned to the limbo
Suspended
between the human corporeal
And
the divine yearning?
From
this existential anguish
Liberate
me, Celestial Immortal Mother,
That
my actions laid and lays
On
an argil pedestal
And
from the mortal illness
That
the dreams’ lamp crushed a day.
EXISTENCE
FOAMS
For
demure corners
I
have dreamt
Falls
of white thoughts
In
the world’s apartment.
Between
silences’ garlands
On
my stomach
I
have black straw fragments
I
have painted
The
divinity
Among
the shackles
Of
my only hopes
In
my heart blackboard.
Vacillating orphan of love
I feel eternity’s deliriums
And sincere mystical thoughts
And dreams.
I have picked moon dust
On the shore of aim
In existence’s foams.
Irony
essences
In
the mocking script
Of
existence!
Irascible and rebel
I have played dice
A vain bet
With the Destiny!
A irrefragable laugh
Has dreadfully fallen
In voids of frontiers
In abyss graves
of circular signs.
Broken is the last edge
Of my obscene flesh
In a alcove of studs
In a silent of solitude
Brain.
TOUT
COURT
And evanescent the taste
Of your sweet far lips
meanders….
Behind naivety spray of acid
lies
And assonances of vain
nostalgias
Too
many soft sheet’s wefts
Farewell, insane fire’s
dances
To the heart’s romances
Liquefied by arcane sorrows.
River drunken of love
Hide the farthest things
Between eloquent silences of
pain
And wakes of bitter tears
The pride has torn the love
Frail being dry-minded
No host in heart mouth
For that Our
Grown in diaphanous sands.