Vittorio Corbo

This section is the most corny of them all. Poetry is one of the most personal things one can make, so its always nerve wracking when one shows it off for the world to see. Each of these holds a special place for me, hope you enjoy.

He is walking, talking, living through the mundanity of everyday life.
When his mind casually wanders off.
It strolls through a city of random thoughts.
When, from a dark alleyway of the mind. It appears.
A flash of light, an idea so perfect, that it consumes him.
And as if God had just spoken the secret to life, he scrambles for a paper, anything that can hold his sacred message.
He feverishly writes, scared he will forget.
He finishes with his hand numb, but he nonetheless bolts home,
Determined to accomplish his mission.
He arrives breathless, and locks his mind in.
He spends weeks, months, or even years desperately working to bring it to life.
During the day he fights his hands, wrestling to craft.
During the night, the final creation haunts his dreams.
He repeats his cycle, until that final day.
Where his hands put the last piece in its place.
He finally breathes, falls back into his chair exhausted and just stares at it.
It is his baby, his masterpiece, a part of his own being.
He carefully picks it up and walks out the door.
And shows it, for the whole world to see.

- Vittorio Corbo

Se cuentan los segundos
para la súbita muerte
contados al segundo
no más ni menos.

Te y él nos guía, ciegos
por un camino, el camino
por el bien del ser maligno, pero sencillo
cuál no salgo, no saldré, ni saldremos
me saca la vida, la nuestra también
con cada segundo pasado que contar.

El cuenta siempre hacia delante,
ya sabe hasta cuando que contar
cuenta con el tick tock de sus manos
y el de sus brazos
repletos sin final
de máquinas contadoras de tiempo,
hay más de estas, que los milisegundos
entre uno y dos segundos.
El tiene relojes para cada cosa,
que cambian en su víctima,
su tiempo,
su ser.
El reloj varía entre
moderno o antiguo,
robusto o debil,
maquina o natural,
barato o caro,
vivo o muerto.
Con cual el siniestro, del demoniaco angel
cuenta todos los segundos, al segundo,
horas,
dias,
meses,
años,
siglos,
milenios.
A todo lo que se mueve,
se movio,
y se movera.
A todo cual viene y va
y siempre, nada escapara.

En sus ojos ve, vio y vera.
todo contado en todos los tiempos,
civilizaciones florecer y marchitar,
chupar el alma de astros,
saco vida a ingratos humanos.
Todo, sumergido, en un castigo de dioses,
castigado todo en su reino
reino de tiempo,
recto como calle,
camino vacio,
desde el fin del comienzo,
cubierto el horizonte en un manto
manto del funebre ser,
manto que cubre lo que existe,
lo que existió mañana,
lo que existira ayer.
Fumigando dioses de existencia,
borro enteras razas de la faz del tiempo
contado todo
por el ladrón enmascarado.

Contados los segundos a todos,
todos al borde de caer
algunos acabados todos al filo del borde de caer
todos balanceados al borde del fin.
Cuando botados en el camino,
desechados como juguete añejo y viejo
perdidos para siempre pero añorado,
hasta al ser acabados, muertos, agotados
ellos, difuntos recordados por amados
hasta ellos propio tal ser contados.

Cuando se acaban los segundos,
corazón ya secundero
conocidos y amados terminados de despedir
se despide del sí y el yo
recordando y recordado
el comienzo hasta el fin,
pegadas las pupilas al cielo
tiempo arivado de sin alma
cada uno al llegar
cae por el camino
aferrado a su lado,
estrecho, corto, como la tal vida
soltado por el agote del peso
de pena y felicidad,
la falla de la "perfecta" vida
el desgaste del cuerpo
huesos ya palos de queso pudrientos.
Muerto cae,en paz, rigido
rigido, ya frio, cae,
cae por el vasio,
cuerpo solemne sin vida
con nadie quien lo recuerde
por el resto de ellos ya contados
contados por las manijas del relojero,
un armado sin arma,
desalmado con alma,
solo con el tiempo del alma.

Segundos contados,
sacados, robados
consumidos a su ser
un balance maligno,
robando, dando muerte a la vida.

- Vittorio Corbo

El señor grande que brilla y brilla y nunca parará,
Sale del cerro y se acuesta en el mar.
Y su melena que ilumina con gran intensidad,
Cubre todo rincón de mi gran ciudad.

Es una estrella
para mi la más bella.
Si queda lejos no importa,
Para mi la distancia es corta.

La veo todo el día,
Siento que es toda mía.
Cuando la veo, imagino el universo.
Es tan bella, que no tiene verso.

El sol amarillo
baila sin cesar,
y yo la flor,
me termino de marchitar.

- Vittorio Corbo

Broken in an empty chasm.
Listening to the serenity of sea.
Heart thrashing, delving deep into sorrow.

Eyes bloodshot, frantically searching for solace.
But there are only stars; too dim to shine.
Shattered, alone in a far away bay.

Humming a melody, a somber and mellow tune.
The waves crack; shaking in the sand.
Taking the mind a place memory is too broken to be.


She appears before him, a warm gingerly glow.
His lips trace her name, a name he can't bare speak anymore.
The distance haunts him, trying to reach what he no longer can.

She leans over, heart ablaze.
His froze, drowned by the raging salty sea.
Her sweet lips meet his.
The memories flood in; crippling in agony.
Darkness flash, she’s vanished, his mind gone, lost in the distance, transfixed in reverie.


That night, that last night.
Those last few minutes, unspoken, clock ticking.
Ears ringing, heart banging; despair.
Silence, that eyrie sense of dread,
Love.
Leave
Never let go.
Cant let go
Kisses
Tears


Shadows scream words ushered in tears.
Don't leave.
Can't stay
Embraces and kisses filled with tears
A loving sadness lost in shadow


A last longing loving tender kiss, savoring those last few moments, sweet but sad, not knowing if that kiss will be the last. Not knowing when they will breathe that fire again, feel each others love radiating, heart melting, with nothing else in the world but Love.



Pain
Walking out the door. That dread to turn around, you do it even if you look back to see that broken look on your lovers eyes. Both hearts tearing apart. Wanting nothing else but each other, to stay one more night. They just stare blankly at love, eyes filling with sadness. Not strong enough to hold it back. That beautiful open heart, all you really are inside, all of it torn apart into tears.


They cant see nothing but each others love,
those beautiful eyes, that burning hair, a last longing look before the world breaks/falls apart.
The world drowning around them, as they painfully walk away. Their hearts cascading into depressive sadness.



Desperate
If some night you feeling lonely. Desperate, and need me beside you, need my love when the night is nigh.
Just look at the moon. Because no matter what, no matter where you are. Even if we are half the world away, every time you lose hope. Just look into the night sky, and we will both be starring at the moon. Loving each other even if we are a million miles apart, Ill be loving you even if I can't kiss you close tonight

-Vittorio Corbo