PIOGGIA DEBOLE - FILIPPO SORCINELLI

PIOGGIA DEBOLE - FILIPPO SORCINELLI

DEBOLE
Have you ever tried to smell wet wood for the fireplace?

In the mountain of solitude, a gray cloud tells me that I am in someone's hand.
And it guides me by the hand where existences tear apart.
Each line of my poems is side by side, intact.
Untouchable. And the world is lost.
With the falling drops, I do not mark time, I am just far from life.
And I merge into the dramatic sound of emotions.
It rains on the void and the cry becomes matter, it breaks the silence.
The voices oscillate.

Here is the encounter, between asphalt and its drawn liquid steps that confirm the solitary man,
in the existential metropolis of noise. Debole.

Here is the fear, of a silent suspended wood, amazed by the deceiving water, generator of mold that clogs the fire. Forte.

Here is the dance in the darkness, among the clouds, of the solo song that wants to embrace an eternal flesh. We are lovers immersed in the drama of each other's salty tears, now united by the rain that blends the scents into one. Intense

Pioggia.

Atmosphere of emotion.