The sites I see
Remind me of the begotten Italy
Soft mosaics, covered in spider’s web’s
Broken and cracked
Laid bare, to tell all.
But oh, if these walls could talk,
If these cracks could tell,
If this darkness could speak.
Then you would know my world
The spirits of stone,
The soul of nature,
And the heart of light.
They all tell a story,
Quite dull, but dim,
Continuous I go.
Prevailing I fall into the ocean.
These waves they look as though
They aren’t even real
Toppling over each other
Tripping and stumbling over gusts of wind
The last thing you’ll remember
Are the beating hearts of this hemisphere
And the fallen tears of fire
How can they fall so fast
Yet leave so quickly
Quite the riddle within itself.
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