Liberatore Suffoletta

Rookie - 8 Points (July 2,1948 / Pettorano Sul Gizio, L'Aquila, Abruzzi, Italy)

Red Flags - Poem by Liberatore Suffoletta

Comrades whose heads rested on the guillotine
Dear friends without tears, women with cruel lips
Midnight has arrived and the song of death
Calls me to the waves of it’s ocean
I have it’s flavor in my mouth
The salt of departed sleepers
Faith, like a chain on each body
Whose paleness only strengthens
Their acute lethargy, and cold smiles
Their eyes swollen like tired boxers
Whose breath silently devours ghosts

In that humidity of revolutionary birth,
with those fearful propositions
closed like a shopping center
where the very air is criminal
and the walls have a sadness
the color of crocodile boots.
A texture of sinister spiders
draining our blood like
a frankenstein monster.
Immense black grapes
grow in the ruins of dreams
at the hour of departure.
Open the hearse and await
there where we shall dine
dressed in wooden suits
as cholera ushers the doors

My heart, is late and without a beat
The day like a poor tablecloth
has been shaken and put out to dry.
It’s moisture once alive
is now something in the air:
Much of the air appears to be
Beggars, lawyers, bandits, map
makers, contradictory actors
and a few from each bureaucracy
those humbled masses who work
in silence in our interiors
searching since before time
examining without arrogance
beaten, without a doubt,
yet never defeated

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Poem Submitted: Monday, December 28, 2009



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