The angry young men of Sicily
A poem I’d written sometime at the beginning of 2008, about the Sicilian Mafia (yes, I admire the Mafia men). Very Godfather inspired. Read on……….
Emerging on the horizon,
As if from distant lands,
Of the “Earth Shaker” Poseidon,
The Sicilian firebrands.
Nerves of steel,
Their glance makes one feel,
The sharp pierce of their gaze,
And their determined craze.
Furious determination smouldering in their handsome eyes,
Revealing for injustice their clear despise.
Omerta is their only law.
Complemented by their courage which in the face of the greatest danger doesn’t thaw.
The feel of their presence,
So strong in its essence,
Felt even by the blind,
Who though cannot see, but still feel it unrefined.
Their nonconformist yet attractive appearance,
Catches many an eye,
And so does their garb in perfect coherence,
To their imperative honour that they place so high.
Donning their elegant Borsalino fedoras,
They earn the admiration of all the Signors and Signoras.
Personal vanity among their most vital characteristics,
Their apparel is best described artistic.
The fervent determination,
The hunger for honour and admiration,
This particular aberrance,
Becomes the very cause of their existence.
These indomitable outlaws,
Like renditions of God Himself,
Seek to establish kingdoms without flaws,
Where they administer the justice themselves.
The pejorative title of “Mafia” bestowed upon them,
So feared, that the utterance of the very word requires a hem,
These men are often misjudged,
As despicable criminals and thugs.
Their sole purpose the deliverance of justice,
Justice denied to the Sicilians by vile judges with decisions prejudiced,
And authorities corrupt and incompetent,
That possess moralities best described acaulescent.
Committed to their administration of justice,
Theirs is a very fair practice,
Often misjudged as nefarious,
But in reality, fair and congruous.
Many may consider their lives a waste,
That end in welters of blood and bullets.
But for such danger these men have a taste,
For their lives are the equivalents of a game of Russian roulette.
I salute these men for their gallantry,
And tribute them with this humble piece of poetry.
For they are the true salt of the earth of the land of Italy,
The angry young men of Sicily.
Yours Ludicrously
Lucky
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