Carmine Branco


Not a stone left to commemorate.
Not a wood on which to pay homage.
The wind will scatter every memory;
fate calls its victim to be forgotten by man.
No mercy bestowed upon the living.
No pride that may be summoned
to soothe the burden that has signed
such destiny, sacrifice of love and compassion;
relief to quiet the burn of painful
memories, denied by those who
have not received but love.
Awakening of the instinct of survival.
Flesh gasping for air; an endless agony.
No price can be paid to satiate
the craving for love, as love's craving
is an endless hunger leading only,
and shamelessly, to death.

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