Charles Bernabi Poems

There was a scene I saw in black and white,
Of a dream I had, yellowed in the middle.
My world in contempt, all I say, and I bleed,
Your life there wears despair on its sleeve.
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In my head I saw nothing but despair,
There was only a fantasy of love.
I think I'm dead, or I'm in a nightmare,
Where affords an intensity above.
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I neither dream of love nor wife to keep,
Then faced with despair that I fear.
When springtime's here, and willow trees weep,
In days of sorrow, would bring me cheer.
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I have a pain in my brain
That is quite a drain.
I can't explain this terrible migraine
The throbbing is insane.
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We are few that ran the golden mile
And surely we left the dust behind.
We wondered over the line in rank and file
And surely it was how things aligned.
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Suddenly, from afar I heard father's rage forlorn
If death did not have him cold yet, I mused,
What bold ghost did surface, which were there born?
And sought girls of merit ne'er wholly abused.
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I was born, and raised without love,
If there ever was love show it now.
I was torn in half and kindness I don't remember,
If there ever was kindness show it now.
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Cruelest night, o'er treacherous traverse,
Forethought in advance its latent worse.
When they come with rugged fingers stretched,
Let their bold story be told and sketched.
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Where neurotic hearts corrupt the puppet show,
Volatile technocrats campaign for its destruction.
Here the marionettes of lumber, they were led,
Taken on misguided tours into the abyss of evil.
...