Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2017
The city is a morgue, as I look into the night
Each one is his own lord,
governed by a flashing light
No graceful compensation, where he broken hearts adorn
Utopia the nation, where all new souls must be born
a candle wick is burning, sending fire it's own way
You even may be learning, in the mire day by day
and who am I, the victim, who must stop death when it calls
Or banned by the restriction, of the shadow as it falls

The desert is a sea, made of sand like heat's own toy
no open arms are reaching, where the laughter comes to end
the hour's for beseeching;
Go wherever fate will send
An opera of the future, put itself onto the stage
the mind in need of nurture,
sometimes cries in mournful rage
And who am I, the dreamer, being backed against the walls
now the ray becomes a streamer,
and the shadow as it falls

The island is a loner, needing nothing but the breeze
and I am but a roamer, seeing promise in the trees
No heaven in the distance, at the top of the floating clouds
Thinking of the word "Resistance".
how I feel between the crowds
A windmill gently turning, on and on forever more
for paradise I'm yearning, and the time comes to explore
Hear the echo's bouncing vision,
in the deepness of the halls
I must make the last decision
with the shadow as it falls
Mario William Vitale
Written by
Mario William Vitale  48/M/Wolcott, Ct
(48/M/Wolcott, Ct)   
246
   Dana Colgan
Please log in to view and add comments on poems