by Anna Mitscha
My Rome
Why am I here, you are not near, near my soul nor my home.
Near my heart nor my ancient Rome you are Rome to my world-
So powerful, so full of rage locked in a cage
-so much wanting, so much understanding
You are my empress, the feelings ;I cannot express
My pulse, which the marsh of your troops make- make me feel
The power. The want. The need.
I always thought you were Venus and not Mars.
Athens and not Rome.
But you smell like wine, and lies
Lies in your eyes; but the truth in your tongue
The tongue which touched the wine; and now you are mine.
My empire, my empress, my armee. My rage; my love.
Mars and Venus in your heart; the battle is fatal. I cannot bare to watch it.
Through your eyes, your gaze.
My grace. Forgive me. I sinned.
I ate the fruit and make you the wine.
Make you tell me the truth- is it all a lie?
Did you die?
Did you die in front of my sight?
The moment the truth was spoken through your lips, which touch made you ramble and mamble
Why am I here, when you are not near?
Not to my heart, not to my home.
Where are you my love;
Where are you my Rome?
© Anna Mitscha 2024-06-27