Internal Landscapes III (Italian Sonnet)
Exists no life outside of what I am:
A tool, a vice, the bones of man I break
On silver platter, pay them all they stake.
Not charmed, entranced, by words and wages, scam–
Far worse than those who by my sword are damned;
Compliant; force my aid, they need not make:
Renounced existence all to thee forsake.
I bow the knee, how can I be a sham?
There’s nothing known of time before, mind rinsed,
I’ve never seen the light beyond this place,
If light they call it, me, you can’t convince.
I take my place amidst a red blood sky,
The severed head supplies a paint effaced,
Drip down my cloak, not tempted I to cry.