Zona di Amici

As inhospitible as the Sahara,
The Atacama desert,
A 9th Inferno.
This place of my banishment is inhospitible.


Oh, to break these blurred lines!
Yet, only blurred on my side
For you wear those bifocals of friendship
And I'm blinded by selfishness.


What lust lurks in my lips!
Behind them, too, lurks more.
Words wish to escape outwards
Pouring into your endless bounty.


Do you know it yourself? . . .
Yes, you are aware.
Yet, nothing can be done for me.
I do not want anything done.


No handouts, no pity
I shall earn what I will
And take what I've earned
Even tickets to this Hell


Oh yes, you'll ask me
Opinions, and for help
And everything else that essentially
Establishes me as owner of a title I cannot own


Does this signify anything on your part?
No, it cannot, for nothing equal exists in your world.
You, who resides in a paradice of being wanted,
Could know nothing of being a tool.


Am I also to blame?
I too cast my own stones.
I ended up here because I deserved it.
No other way around it.


No redemption exists.
It seems the more I try to appeal,
The more I'm condemned.
This zone is much to unbearable.


Yet, bear it I will.
Blasted heath! For everything
I could do for someone,
Why do I suffer this?


If I were a man of power
I would simply establish myself
And claim what I feel I deserve,
Or better yet let what I deserve come to me.


Yet, I deserve nothing
And instead scratch and claw at what I want
Yearning like a suckling babe
At a dry resoivoir of that loving milk.


Earthly Aphrodite, why do you refuse me?
I feel I could offer all you ask for
And I could offer you a pedastal tall
Stretching as high as Venus herself


Or, if that is not to your liking,
I could merely holster you firm
Keeping you on even terrain
Claiming you my equal


No, none of this is enough.
I, am not enough.
I must resign myself to my new position.
Captains dare argue not with generals.


Should I take a chance if arised?
Or, would that not be to your liking?
No, it would not -
It would be a question to my loyalty.


Acursed emotions
With tides like the sea
I simply wish to bolster in stone
What you want me to feel for thee


Plutarch's art was far more fair
And Wordsworth had pretty prose
But yourself has no compare
Not even Shakespeare's rose.