Italy I Say


Looking down waves of intrusion, captivated by sun sparked fame,
a passion of tasty calmness, a well of magic wonder, bricks is
the flash while canals are a genuine core of security, wingspreaded
paddles absorbing the freshness of human ora;

A damned corpse of quiet souls spread along the air,
torn apart from this demean fabrication of a slashed Queen;

Italy I Say...

Breathing in the pollinated flowers along the cement road-- red,
purple, and yellow, my feet soothed by the hardened of the path
glorious echoes of foreign voices of all shapes and sizes, smile
with joy;

A monarchy of rebelled soldiers cut in two, with frown filled blood,
tortured scavengers willow the peak of all embraced wickedness;

Italy I Say...

The ancient walls surround this victorious gathering, dresses
uniquely fitted, suits perfected inch by inch-- torch lit fires
soar the expedition of this charade;

Axes, hatchet switch blade knives as they carry in bundles of flesh,
gloomy shadows wander off in giant grins, a tap here and there
of soul strickened darkness;

Italy I Say...

Copyright ©2003 Joann Marie Santos





 
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