Thermopyle
A merit of lonesome, Persephone's dark ocean
we received. A strong red wine, a wake of pain
that stings. A ghostly clad chorus, a lost odd zone
of Hades and Styx. A gloomy dim swaying
an abstract dull pain, I felt, an emotional strain.
Three hundred rain drops, and two that remain
to offer again, a destiny altered, a deadly refrain,
denial spelled about my life, over your throne
and there the air, is to betray, the death of my soul..
A mantle of arrows we wore, a lost last embrace,
a scattered emotion, a gathered devotion, away,
my fingers so callous of a never charisma to trace
there is nothing to encounter, a mist plea to obey
white of candor, a blanket of valor, so death will stay.
One thousand rain drops to bestow domain to fly
up in the clouds, Olympian vows, this wild garland
passengers of time, the epigraph read, vows comply
in a Plutonian kingdom, a cold old endeavor of blood..
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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