If I wrote a song about me
The intro would be a happy melody.
I’d miss a couple chords
Hum some notes a little too sharp
But it’s okay

The first verse would be laughter
Dancing through the sun’s rays
White keys beneath my fingers
Playing the major

The second verse would fog over
minor notes bleeding through
each wrong sound a confession
I prayed no one would hear

The chorus would unravel
Restless chords, circling, choking
A violin played with shards of glass

The third verse would be filled with screaming
Raw and jagged
Into the void where I hoped to disappear
The fourth would fade into silence
And the fifth would hollow to a ghost

Then the devil's interval would loop, waiting for the next line

Scrivo perché l’anima  
non conosce silenzi,  
perché l’amore e il dolore  
diventano parole.  

I write because the soul  
cannot remain silent,  
because love and pain  
become words.  

Ogni verso è un cammino,  
ogni parola un respiro  
che cerca di incontrare  
cuori e occhi lontani.  

Each verse is a journey,  
each word a breath  
seeking to meet  
hearts and distant eyes.  

Se queste poesie parlano a te,  
sappi che il mio viaggio  
vive anche in libri  
che custodiscono le stesse voci.  

If these poems speak to you,  
know that my path  
also lives in books  
that guard the same voices.  

📖 Amazon – Roberto Masi  

*Masi Roberto © 2025

Thank you for everything,
Even though I didn’t receive anything,
I loved the time we spent
For what it was meant.

Even though your distance hurts me
I will be the first one to say
You taught me how to find the way
When my heart was mercilessly slayed

I forgive you; I still love you,
But, for what is worth,
You were my new birth,
A birth to new life,
One where I became invincible for life.

Your heartbreak made me strong,
Made me realize where I went wrong,
Now I know what do,
When someone leaves me like you.

Thank you for what time we spent
The sleepless wide awake
I know you thought about me once
But I remember you with every pulse
Your sweat memories,
Are stored like documentaries;
Your joyful laughter,
Is what I am still after.

However, distanced we are,
Just remember I am not far,
If u need a friend in the middle of the night,
Call me and I will be as ready as a knight.

I know we can’t amend the past,
I know you treat me like I am your past,
You don’t even see me anymore,
Then what do the late-night talks for?

Girl all you gave me was hatred,
But this was my heart’s prize,
Or I shall say price,
For loving you for the years I waited.

But in the end I thank you,
For everything you lead me too,
I am out of your sorrow,
And waiting for a stronger tomorrow.

Once, on a journey that is yet to be known,
I crossed the paths made for grey and stone.
The winds warp with every step,
The light of the moon and stars befall upon me,
Like silk trapped within a web.

Not twice do eyes here close for the night,
As they keep watch for clusters
Of imagination, or light.
The dreams here seem to drip
With liquid mercury and gold,
The shadows dance in the absence
Of bedtime stories told.

They say one shall not pass upon this city
Without the chance to grieve,
Yet, the shallow feelings devoid of warmth
And sleep have many more places to be.

Getting there, though no idea where.
And to be honest: I don’t care.
But slowly, step by step,
every second, every day,
I am getting closer, yes, I am!

And sometimes it feels like I can see it,
I can taste it, I can hear it.
Sometimes it seems like I'm already there,
no longer here.

But there’s still a long way to go,
many sleepless nights and long days
a journey through the snow, the hail, and the sleet.

Getting there, though no idea where.
And to be honest, I don’t care.

Would it help me if I did?

i had no idea how heavy
the heart can be
when it clings
to a dream long gone.

i didn’t need reminding
of how selfish i’ve been.
i stayed away
to find clarity, space—
and who i was meant to be.

my roots are still fixed in the dark.

but i know now
what it’s like
reaching through the clouds,
and being crowned by the sun.

with my first chip in hand.
after thirty days,
i’m ready to speak again,
and let love back into my heart.

I gave myself a title I never earned
and now I write everyday praying it learns to accept me,
I'm no poet
I'm just a man fighting to keep hold of this pen .

Would that I wave my hand
and gift the blooming of
spring flowers to you.
Or pray at the altar of winter’s slow fire
to melt away this frozen heart.
But a flurry of whiteout feelings  
blind me from such a pompous display
of naive romanticism.
Yet love is blind and love blinds.
Love binds and love breaks.
If you’ve lost the trail, you are the trail.
No one said this journey would be easy.
Actually, I don’t remember anyone telling me anything about this journey.
Rubber wood for legs and pursed lips
at the sound of a secret
taunting my ensemble soul from the wings.
Space enough to relay a message.
Distance enough to lose it.
The gathering at this point is a drift of tumbleweeds and the only thing
to read on the signs is rust.
So I reach down and grab a handful of dirt,
put it in my mouth, and whistle dixie
past this graveyard of doubt.
Just in time to see the last elephant
becoming the horizon
and the sun setting through the fog of memory.
That star burns in our mother tonight,
the mystery growing in the womb
of tomorrow.
“Come,” she says,
“the dawn breaks…for you.”