When we destroyed
What time couldn’t built,
Erasing the pages
That life couldn’t fill,
Below the distraction of shade,
Followed things meant to drown,
And the voice that was whispered
Came screaming through now,
Like the silence of a smile,
That time itself devours,
What we gave up in pain,
We now claim back as ours,
Constantly shifting back to shape
In a rhythmic dance exhaling fire,
Coming from a beating drum
Inside a chest we called body…
The shrine of one’s thoughts
In a form of a shell,
Re-ignite what was lost,
As children we disguise ourselves,
Foretold in a future so distant, yet close,
Coming farther than this, for no reason we approached,
And it began as a kiss, as a memory, as a rose,
Inhaling the senses the water once showed,
From this insignificant and ignorant self,
Efforts and deserts in self-indulged pain,
Realizing the brightness and the light going dim,
But the magic itself is always present, yet thin…
For those who have eyes with crystal inside
It can come as more clear than the day turning night,
But there are darkened visions and mirrors besides
What we see, they pretend, condescendingly try…
Furthermore than to see, it’s to come close to the scent,
And to feel once again the drum beating inside the chest,
You can lie and be weak and then try to repent,
But when it’s real you can see that nothing tastes best…
