User Review( votes)
written by: James Marchiori
long time we haven’t chat.
This is not poetry,
just anger to be.
No verses but thoughts.
I’m writing to you, buddy,
staring at the blanket, stained by crucified lines.
Do you remember what I used to say?
It was something about that day, that is here today.
I begged you and others around the fountain square
to give love an aim; to be your part of the lawless territory.
To be love.
But now that day is finally here.
No time to regret, it’s out of your door on the infected heels.
I knew it was going to happen, buddy,
over and above your pilates, gym and salads.
I knew from the very beginning. You were the one who would live forever.
I told you. Now there’s no more to say.
Faith is a field on the earth,
above the color of the skin and the religious skills.
I’d like to see the power of faith on the harmless,
the poorest, the drunkards, fagots, and the miserable.
I never wanted to be a king or a pope.
I never wanted to see the faith in those who faked it.
I was just being honest.
Do you know what, buddy? Go to sleep, like when we were kids.
One day or another, I will discover, who is throwing us into the bin.
For now, keep in mind to save a prayer for the victims of Covid.
One day or another, we will discover who did this.
Bohemia incarnate, a soul devoted to Surrealism and Poetry.