In the heart of the Tuscany under Italy's sun
Lies the town of Lucca, which is known to some
As Giacomo Puccini's birthplace, and the truth to be told,
He's Italian composer, one of the best in the world.

In the times of Medieval - far back in the past
Thrived the banking in Lucca and the art of silk craft ...
....
The legend has that at those times and in this very city
Lucia Manco lived so gorgeous, vane and pretty.

Though cunning Satan made her splendid stunning beauty last
On the condition, that her lovers souls to Devil pass she must.
... For quite a while this deal worked really well
- Men souls were going from her bed straight to the Hell.

For quite long time she never fell in love, we trust
- Her drive was simply egotistic vanity and crave for lust.
But even magic comes to undeterred sudden end
- She met young man, to whom she loving heart of hers has lent.

She would not dare to corrupt his wholesome soul,
And lost her beauty just at once forever and for all.
He lost his love to her at instance when she lost her femine charms .
But to the worst, the Devil told him that he held his mother in his arms!

Do you love or just want to be loved ?

Is for you "to be loved" good enough ?

Should you settle your life just with that,

How it feels during times, spent in bed ?


If ******* just comes as technique,

Not requiring for both hearts to click,

If the skills are well tuned and adjusted, being tried,

Then before you are ready to fall into sleep, satisfied,


Do you dare to say: "I do too" to the guy ?

Does he know it is just a lie ?

Was he able sometimes to cut through

And reply with the pain: "It's not true!" ?

Both fields of war and love obey same rules,
Both celebrate the victories and mourn the loss.
Their soldier's fortune is decided by coin's toss,
And both the winners and the losers act like fools.

Wish I'd be that boy from vicinity,
Whom entrusted you sweet virginity.
One, who was your first, one, you wanted whom,
One, you let to sneak to your maiden room.
But there is nothing I, in my whim, could do
To be me instead, who climbed your window.

He was the one, who made your passion turning.
He was the one, whose love you were returning.
He was the one, whom then you were caressing.
He was the one, for whom you rushed to get *******.
He was the one, to whom you gave yourself without warning.
He was the one you kissed way out in the morning.


If I would have it now  - the magic Time Machine,
I would fly back there, where then you've been.
I would throw myself between you and him,
I would beg your love, I would yell and scream.
I would cry my tears, I would be enraged,
But there is nothing then could I really change ...


He still'd be one, who made your passion turning.
He still'd be one, whose love you were returning.
He still'd be one, whom then you were caressing.
He still'd be one, for whom you rushed to get *******.
He still'd be one, to whom you gave yourself without warning.
He still'd be one you kissed way out in the morning!

The heart of lover does not lie.
It speaks from love that will not die.
My love is blind but my heart cries,
You see the tears in my eyes ...

The cry of heart is such of sort
- Just by one's heart it could be heard.
The special one, who went same road
And knows how love could hurt.

You said that you could read the voice,
That you could hear truth through noise.
Why couldn't you hear cry of love,
Which comes from me to you, my half?

Your kindness towards yours "just friend"
Is killing me on other hand.
Such kindness is quite harmful rather,
- It saves the one and kills another!

I never searched the truth in vine,
But in this case it might work fine.
Instead of seeing my plea sinking
I'd rather shut myself by drinking!

You could deceive yourself in reason
That you just want to keep him breathing,
That your sole purpose is to please him,
But in my heart I hear treason.

You could insist that it's your goal,
But your insistence tells me all ...
That you're afraid to tell what's true,
- You need him more than he needs you!

What else might tell you I this night!
You can't deny that I am right!
Just let me stay and taste the misery.
Don't add insult to my heart injury!

The heart in love could not be patient ...
It suffers in anticipation!
You say I don't have your trust ...
You should believe me! Yes, you must!

The end of her days gets burned out alone

In care of the staff in remote nursing home.

She hardly remembers her name and her age,

The book of her life turned itself to last page.


Her mind is confused and her talk lacks the sense,

She feels that she lives at somebody's expense.

No interest in living, no hope, no dream,

She is locked in herself in the mental extreme.


Since her husband has died twenty years have gone,

And then she has lived by herself, on her own.

Her only offspring is her sixty years son,

To whom she gave life and so much she has done.


He visits her weekly, she cries when he leaves,

He is so ashamed when he flees like a thief.

She wants him be near till she is alive,

He lives at the distance of thirty miles drive.


She wants be in comfort of family warmth,

He can not oblige with his heart has been torn.

She calls him each evening: "Please, please take me from here !",

He tells in return: "I can not, oh My Dear".


But once in a while she has painful nightmare

That her five years son still is in her care.

She calls on the phone in torment and despair:

"With whom is my son? Where is he, where? where?"

There was a site for writers and book readers.
There was a guy, who liked to post on it his rhymes.
There also was a girl, who read his poetry sometimes,
And, strangely, found she herself eventually attached
To honest feelings of his humble words so much,
That made him fall for her and she became his love and cheer leader.