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The Sicilian Family

Poetry By: PoeticKing
Mystery and crime



This poem is one I wrote after reading about criminal activity in well planned syndicates such as the Italian Mafia. The Italian Mafia, or otherwise known as 'La Cosa Nostra' is an infamous organisation which has thrived the criminal underworld for decades. The poem is from the viewpoint of a well established 'Don' in the mafia who's life is bound to criminality and 'the family', the poem takes us through a summary of his life and shows us the perspective of what mafia members lives are really like.

PLEASE NOT THAT ALL OF THE CHARACTERS ARE FICTIONAL AND ARE NOT INTENDED TO OFFEND ANY AUDIENCE.


Submitted:Apr 1, 2013    Reads: 46    Comments: 4    Likes: 3   


The Family.

Drinking since I was seven,

Dealing drugs at age eleven,

Told by my father to stop praying, there's no way we're reaching heaven.

.

Sugarcoating reality by calling it a family,

Our hands in everything that seeks notoriety,

Beating the other kids at school into a coma,

Slowly becoming acustomed to the bloody aroma.

.

Twenty-five and a heroin addict,

Cash flowing in through all means illicit,

Indulged, a slave to the wealth,

My brothers, the family and most importantly myself.

Three kids and a b**** I love more than life,

God help any man who lays a single finger on my wife,

Buying her the elaborate and only the finest,

With me strolling round the f***ing city like your highness.

.

Violent and blood thirsty,

My hands always dirty,

Charged with first degree murder aged thirty.

Eye contact with the judge, receiving my life sentence,

Dear Sicilian children, don't bother seeking repentance.

I warned Giovanni not to test me from the start,

And to this day I still have no remorse in my heart,

He consented to his own death, laying hands on my lady,

Sending her flowers and love notes acting shadey.

I Swung and broke his ribcage with a solid steel pole,

He squeeled like a peccary when I torched his worthless soul,

Squirming, begging for mercy, the flames made his face dull,

Then immediate silence when I unleashed a 12 gauge straight through his skull.

.

So now I'm sixty, sitting here, running the kingdom from penitentiary,

With tomorrow being my grandchilds first day at elementary,

Fur coats in prison, smoking Cuban cigars,

Replacing street soldiers like a few used cars.

My lady living good, rocking diamonds on her wrist,

Ruling from my luxury cell with a closed iron fist.

Banknotes filling my accounts, and no longer in the minus,

Our cocaine from the Philipines destroying another addicts sinus,

Extortion rackets, burning another bankers eye sockets,

Lying here behind bars, with a joey clinging to my pockets.

.

For this is the life and the family I live by,

So Sicilians be prepared, to slaughter, prosper or die,

Ending lives on a rota,

A king in Cosa Nostra,

And in the famous words of Don Elfonze,

"Become more ruthless as death draws closer".

O.T. (PoeticKing)

2013





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