Dear father Livio, listen to my pleas
And turn them for a while around your mind
My earnest supplication seeks the keys
That may set free those IPs so maligned
Of which includes the one tied to my name
So that I shan't be forced to hide behind
This proxy, hideous symbol of my shame
In this division you've been much unkind
Of all my previous sins, I do repent
And if you seek the proof of this, you'll know
That every word that I have said, I've meant
Don't think that I am stirring up a show.
In simpler words I'll now repeat my plea:
Ugh, Livio, just unblock my darn IP!!!!

So you pronounce Livio as two syllables? That's actually really strange. Never thought of it like that.

It's for the sake of the poem.

not bad, not bad. how long did it take you to type?

your IP has been blocked by mistake, I think, it'll be fixed soon I guess(?)

Those words that you would so much like to hear,
Shall stay unwhispered. Who shall take the blame?
When you had not yet met your sixteenth year,
The thought was born that you would craft a game.
Frontiers unexplored: this set the stage.
And heroes with the names of hurricanes.
You, too, a hurricane. So young an age,
Were you. But all the necessary brains,
Were yours to use in any way you could.
And then you took to dreaming of your game.
Years passed. In front of you there only stood,
The basis, in itself a sham; a frame,
Of that which really never was to be.
The tale of Magnum Opus Livii.

With thoughts so noble, Livio, such as yours,
As right as these: equality and joy,
To everyone the samely open doors.
If it should be that you're a girl or boy,
No matter. All the world is open; yours.
But sadness we must feel; for it's not so.
A soldier you remain with many wars,
Ahead. You've not yet met the final blow.
And never will, perhaps, but soldier on,
You must. No other option does exist.
Because without your help they're on their own.
Let not the forces humble you. Resist.
Now that you, Livio, think yourself so good:
Is it not good to do that which you should?

The town that with your own hands you had built,
Now lies abandoned, gath'ring grime and dust,
Its edges, now so brown, that once were gilt,
Upon which we had put such fervent trust:
That never were these walls to ever break;
That here we'd call our home forever more;
That never, from here on, were we to wake,
Upon the threshold of a foreign door.
Yet off you've run to find uncharted land,
Where once again a leader you can be:
Charisma natural in your command.
But Livio: don't forget: remember: we,
Were those who taught you everything you know,
Who raised you from a child and watched you grow.

They say a special bond is shared by twins,
That not the strongest force can break apart.
From earliest infanthood our tale begins:
Two boys, identical in mien and heart,
Drew their first breaths on one September night.
And then against their will it was decreed,
That equals they would be; for that was right.
Through childhood each would chase the other's lead,
Discrepancies eliminated fast.
And sister sites the brothers made as teens.
To college followed each the other. Past,
Pursuits were ceased by one. Beyond the screens,
A love he'd found. His equal, in the dust,
Was left behind. A breach of mutual trust...

TBC

You are a knight upon a noble steed:
And yet your inner thoughts can't be suppressed.
In every battle you're prepared to lead;
But always by a hidden scheme you're pressed.
Your brain craves a reward when you complete,
A noble deed. You always do await:
Acknowledgement, rewards, a firm retweet;
That seems to say: "I'm here and I relate—
To that which you are saying in your post."
And here your heart swells up with filling pride.
But those are trifles; what you want the most:
Is for a woman to become your bride.
To prove that there was sense to what you've done,
And that you've—in a way—already won.

(From the viewpoint of Livio)

When we look into one another's eyes,
A stranger gazes back at me, but you,
Still see the old, and all that that implies:
That I'm the same, but you've been made anew.
And with the shedding of your previous wings—
And with the loss that turned into a gain—
You're free, you're light: your heart, unburdened, sings:
While I am left behind to live in pain.
The pain of opportunities now lost,
And all of that because I am too brave.
Because my activism held a cost:
Emancipated, I've become a slave,
To those who could have answered just to me—
Instead, though—I have tried to set them free.

thats actually pretty impressive

not really

ok not winston churchill but has a vague resemblance of him so that's the first person that comes to mind when seeing your avatar

Norman Podhoretz

the last sonnet, as well as a few others, was a reference to livio's gamergate activism, which I consider to be highly out of character and sudden when considering livio's general personality

eta: and marsh, we understand that you have been exposed to the great literary works of Keats and Milton from a young age, thanks to your private school education, for which your parents pay $20,000 USD in british pounds a year, but not everybody has had that same opportunity, and, as such, may have a different perception of what constitutes a decent sonnet

You'd never thought that it would come to this.
Now that the glasses, tinted rose, are gone:
You're left to gaze into the dark abyss:
Which strips you of the will to carry on.
The visage glaring back from every screen—
With smoke and fire rising from its eyes,
And words unminced—speaks of a war unseen,
And beckons you to go to your demise.
You seethe, in turn, with rage—but what are you?
The tapping of a finger on a mouse.
One droplet in a boiling, churning stew—
Of anger, righteous, seeking to arouse:
The silent crowd from listless apathy,
Of which includes the likes of you—and me.

Within. Devices hum at frequencies,
Unheard, but ever present. Birds, outside—
Replace the static, chirp amidst the trees.
Within. The steady ticking, amplified.
Outside, a kindred soul forgets its pair—
Surrendered for the sake of both. Within,
A thousand wounds expect a slow repair.
Outside, they catch the sting of hurt again.
Within. The shards are strewn across the floor.
Outside. The chirping ceases, nature's weight—
Lifts up; unchained, you open up the door.
Outside. The poolside cocktails, iced, await.
Within. You cross the hallway, patio, dock.
The demons scorn the turning of the lock.

Dear father Livio, gallons I have drained,
Out from the inkwell of my pen, for you;
Yet all my compositions lie in vain—
And gather grime and dust—and mold and dew.
Acknowledgement, some praise, a firm retweet,
Would quite suffice, and leave me to deduce;
That you, at least, are thankful for the treat,
Of being chosen as my honored muse.
With no such gratitude have I been met.
Perhaps it really never was to be?
Perhaps all that I'm left with is regret;
Perhaps it's time to set my own self free?
With empty pockets and a heavy heart—
The poet turns an end into a start...