Sicily, The Ever Beautiful
Sicily, The Ever Beautiful A couple of months ago, I rowed my boat to sail the seas, woven red. Oars could hear them, the planks groaned But the souls of our heart's dreads gelled. Long have I sought the Sicily, a Sicily yet no master to beseech, my heart tossed itself to water, growing weary and seas of cold and thunder we crossed. I was a harvester, witnessing Sicily, with her laughter pouring like golden wheat fields, there I stood, unsown, and there she was, a scythe that drew my blood. I was a sailor, witnessing Sicily, And to my sight, I found Trinacria. She stood at the three capes of my longing, spinning like the legs of Trinacria. In the fields, she stood calmly, elegantly, and the cliffs welcomed me , a delicacy that poisoned me, tarnished me. On the final foot, stood the unspoken , anchoring me to the very isle that I could not speak upon me. Like windmills of a mountain that sought no lake, I brought doom upon a windmill that was already spinning. I was an enemy...