amico di anima...

Hey amico di anima!
I might drift
and you might take the tide so swift...
and we might live seperate
but we can't afford hate...
we can't simply...
For when we are so attached by strings...
we might fly to distant lands
you to the known chambers of hearts forlorn
me to a port where fishermen's song
transmute the evenings into silvery white...
Hey! amico di anima!
we can never lose the sight...
of birds flying back home...
of sun dipping her redness strong
into waters of ganges or volga...
Hey! we are not accursed...
We got no anathema...
Are we not souls tied by strings?
forever stretching...elongating?
You might choose in your way
carpe diem theme
carpe florem...
I might on a white page
work out a neopolitan theorem...
But where's the hate? where's the lack?
strings are mutually made to slack...
by us...
our choice of words...
and silence befitting the journey afterwards...
still...
Hey! amico di anima...
Where's the anathema?

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