Sad or sadistic?

Dead bodies fell from the sky like sweet rain would into the salty sea and the African orange peeks from behind the blues. It takes brave men to sacrifice themselves in unnecessary wars and it takes brave artists to admit that sometimes inspiration comes from the worst murders like this mass suicide.

A man in the horizon is crying, he has hair of waves and his lazy eye is the sun. Women in black and men in white went marching in lines through the thick water towards the sun to melt, to blend and to be.

If I can only stop to admire how beautiful this breathtaking horror looks but time does not exist anymore and that’s a shame. My sins are here for everyone to see as a carpet of red roses, and they scream as I walk on them and their blood flows underneath my feet to wash away, to wash off and to wash down.

The blind ones were lost between the giant swords, black feathers folded their eyes for us to know them and they danced on the sounds of the piano that played on our nerves, the generous man gave away his eye to the blind for them to feel fear again.

The Fire forced her presence and Arabian horses were born out from that fire to fly and take the children far away to their awaiting destinies beyond this pathetic life to start a new beginning with new ways to die for them to look forward to.

Great voices of echoes were spreading rumours about the naked sorrow in the grand theatre of life. Mirrors were surrounding us … Our stained truth was surrounding us. We only wore masks that were glued to our faces and they were torn off along with our faces but it was not an act at all.

Advertisements

When life loves life

The sun woke him up kissing his soft lips as she embraced him with warmth to say I love you, his colourful sheets tied his young body forbidding him to leave, the pigeons made love to him through his window with their beaks, untying himself he walked up to the pigeons and they flew lightly, the sea stared at the depth of his eyes with admiration.

He decided to greet the morning with a smile that made the crumbled bread on the Rambla street goes toast. He lived a day with the roses trying to catch his scent, with the country laying paths of glory for him to walk on, with the dancing birds around his head and the sky above him changed her colours when the sun buried herself in red.

The moon then came jealous playing the Moonlight Sonata on his flawless skin to keep him up until his seductive dreams pulled him in saying – “My turn” in thirst for life.