Terza Rima for a Baritone

Blue spring of constant tears.
His voice of raging thunder
shattering mirror of my fears.

His aria, my mask disrober,
reveals my hidden arrows
with aerial waves of amber.

Like chords of angry cellos
the timbre of a baritone
renders raven lamentos.

The marrow of my chest alone
aroused by the beating pound
of drums melting sable stone,

rejoices in the revelation of his sound
as warm ignition of a purple flame
rotating the axis of my destiny around.

And I begin to verse with the only aim
to proclaim mighty golden Opera
like the Greek Tragedy, deliverer of pain.



To Davide in Boston
February 7, 2009


© 2009 Arianna Le Molle Zurcal™