Yes, that was a stretch, and if you stuck through it, bellissimo, amico mio.
With that, I have exhausted any and all fractured command I possess over the Italian language, and so I bid you adieu, fellow reader, and -should you dare succumb to blind boredom or curiosity- I hope you enjoy the following poetry, alongside other pieces I shall be submitting in the future.
[War Poetry] Ceasefire.
We lie scared, tucked away beneath tired walls.
Young faces tired, each contour old,
in the spirit of youths who do as they are told.
Above us, our saviour?
A man half-crouched, keen in behaviour,
and dressed in ghillie full in length,
in the crook of his shoulder, beholder the most of his strength.
No more than eleven, twelve of us at most,
Shaking, quaking, berating our ghosts
to be, to fear, to fall, to die,
dearest friend, I implore you,
fear not to look me in the eye.
Come in! Come in! Twenty at least, I see!
An obese Goliath of twisted steel,
challenging forth the men who reel.
Outnumbered.
We've not a chance to survive.
And as adrenaline flows, we feel truly alive.
As I tremble, I quiver,
In crippling fear;
a shot rings out.
There are no men here.
[Relationships] Small Things -Part One.
It's the small things you do, you see,that if escape anyone else, they seldom escape me
or myself, which ever is correct.
It's small things you do that I hardly forget.
I am presented, a complexion askew,
for the jacket I am wearing, my wearing dependent on you,
is misfit, ugly, misplaced,
and yet before you, I wear it, without a sign of disgrace.
Wearing a jacket that does not wear me so well,
yet regardless, you tend, attempt mend, suggestions you tell.
Your index spanning, panning the lining,
the palm then brushing against the lapel, fibres intertwining.
A slight adjust, a brief smile later,
you decide it works against me, and yet your smile appears greater
to me.
For it's the small things you do, you see,
that if mean nothing to someone else, means something
to me.
[Observational] Stériliser.
The flow begins warm, the temperature escalating progressively.Staccato bursts of intermediate thoughts,
and focus grows attentively,
the droplets, memoirs of lessons once taught.
For they are the greatest teachers of all,
knowledgeable, patient, wise.
The trickle congeals, scolding such fools
who dare to cower under the guise
of the cooling bleed.
Suffice to say,
it is a necessity, a need.
The events start to close, along with this day.
The burn subsides, and leaves an icy chill,
like a limp, lifeless corpse,
the shriek spontaneous, shrill.
Enveloping each pour
drowning, of course.
The flow is ceased, suppressed, finale, no more.
[Observational] Capitalise.
At first, I borrowed a fiver.
I needed more, so I borrowed another.
I started with some,
Expanded my sums;
And when I asked, for finance they were my provider.
I needed to borrow a twenty.
No questions, for they had plenty.
The notes grew in length,
My sums grew in strength,
I needed to borrow a fiver.
When I asked, they were my provider.
I needed to borrow a fifty.
My providers thought me somewhat shifty.
Their sums became scarce
For my monopolist repairs --
I needed to borrow a fiver.
When I asked, they were my provider.
I have in my bank the provisions.
And my providers lie hopeful in my decisions.
I found they were poor; their golden linen? No more.
They needed to borrow a fiver.
When they asked, I laughed
And said they should have been wiser.
[Relationships (+Observational)] Wherever You Are, Of Course.
Where is the relic in which it may lie?
That makes knees weak and grown men cry?
Where does one go when they've no recourse, why --
Wherever you are, of course.
Where is the land that is truly free?
Liberated of faith
or ideology?
Where is the grass where the wind shall blow north, why --
Wherever you are, of course.
Where is the soul that has no more choice?
To live a set life,
and lose his own voice?
Where is the freedom from crippling cruel?
From disapproving sneers,
from the callous and cool?
Where is the haven where love is supreme,
away from finances, corruption and greed;
a settlement where people like us dare dream --
Where can I go when I'm shown no remorse, why --
Wherever you are, of course.
[War Poetry] Commit.
A: 'Do you commit?'I tell you, I won't persist,'
B: 'In light of what has passed?'
A: 'This is the only time you will be asked.'
________________________________________
B: 'But what if I refuse?'
A: 'Is it death you really choose?'
B: 'No --
But I must know: what will be of my family, should I go?'
A: 'You left them long ago.'
B: 'But I beg of their rapport!'
A: 'Rapport? Rapport? That was abandoned when you walked through the door.
Your preach for mercy's amiss,
You're faceless; you won't be missed.
And so I ask of you, cleanskin --
Do you commit?'
__________________________________________
B: 'So is it do or die?'
A: 'You're here now, tell me --'
B: 'Why?'
A: 'Initiative, a test: you need to do your best.'
B: 'In the name of the queen? Or of the king? Or of any governed regime?'
A: 'For the greater good.'
B: 'For what could and should?'
A: 'For what isn't your care,
For what you're told, for when and where.
Your preach for mercy's amiss,
You're faceless; you won't be missed.
And so I ask of you, cleanskin --
Do you commit?'
___________________________________________
B: 'I suppose I've no choice? I suppose I must dare?'
A: 'You can't suppose, cleanskin: you're unaware.'
B: 'Are pressures relieved to those who commit?'
A: 'Lesser than cowards who -- in fear -- omit.
Your preach for mercy's one of exclaim,
You're faceless; you won't have this chance again.
Do what's right under God and law,
Fight for what I deem just without question or abhor,
Build up your strength, a patriot fit!
I believe in you, cleanskin --
Do you commit?'
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