The destiny – whether one’s ready to
die on it or die for it –
has never been else than a given decision,
been our ever nature to screen it,
cast it, and act on it until we own our last deadend reality.
(The die has been cast. – Julius Caesar)
I’m rarely dreaming.
Waking from a rarely dreaming,
I’m always screaming.
Only in my head, without a single sound,
But it’s still far too loud.
Realities are deceiving.
I’m never sure of when I’m dreaming;
I’m always waiting for awaking.
The thoughts and doubts form a crowd;
I cannot look around.
I’m barely sleeping.
I’m afraid I will wake up in the evening,
And it’s still the evening.
Being alone, in the deep night drowned,
Dreams or deeds astound.
It’s a funny feeling.
The morning should be relieving,
Even if it’s without meaning.
At least, I could be sure of the ground,
Not just being without a bound.
Am I dreaming?
I have no landmarks steering;
I might be sleeping.
Dream in a dream in a dream sowed;
In a mind that may be underground.
An empty, sand-built city is the felicity:
From far, it’s like a hive:
Busy bustle’s around the crowdy castle,
Green gardens surround the apartments,
Rumours and humours go on like fresh water.
You keep wrestling with your thirst,
Asking with an outstanding misunderstanding:
Where is the oasis you promised?
It comes with big fireworks of happiness
Like an extra life that revives you at the final battle,
Like a compliment that makes believe in yourself,
Like an advent of a person with radiating hope.
Euphoria – what it’s called – catches your moments,
Paints everything with eternal-like vivid hues,
Triumphs your whole past in a meaningful-like song,
Brings you a goal that has never existed.
Then, it just stops the time around you,
Lets you see the grey cloud of the present,
Hear the empty vacuum of the past,
Get dizzied by the blur of the future.
It holes your soul with the deepest pit
That eats up all the hopes remained or desired,
All the energy left leaving only fatigue,
All the senses that might make the soul living.
The Mark of Death spreads its curse all over the body,
Including the soul that just sits, lays inside,
Letting the whole world behind half-living,
Accepting death already by my side.
All that you left me just some wordly drugs…
In a world full of shadows;
A shape of a face – human like me,
A shade of a grace – as if she likes me,
Then, everything has been a play of shadows.
All left to me is some wordly drugs…
Braces and necklaces, all phosphorescence;
Discoball beyond a huge ball with music,
Sending down any impulsive fluid,
That’s my only quintessence.
You left me only wordly drugs…
I live with what you’ve written,
Enjoy then the misery of your hands,
Watch me to suffer; see how he pretends,
To enjoy your wordly drugs while just getting sicken.
Thanks God for the wordly drugs.