To fall in love.

That equation which has no formula

The emotion without reason

Born out of purpose, burning desire.

The vessel of the weak

The immortals Empire.

Passion can be lust,

Can be anger, be despair

Be the sin to the Just

The Envy to the fair.

To fall in love,

Is to consume a mind in wonder

The absence of fear

In a nightmare called dream.

Struck from within, driven by thunder

A reign for the ego

A current, a stream.

Passion can be trust,

Can be laughter, can be cries

Be the choice that we must

Or the happiness that dies

It´s Obsession in the eyes

The Enigma of the unknown

That poem we have not written.

Born of the simple Heart.

The Babylon of many sighs

Luminescence in the Dark.

To fall in love,

Takes a glimpse to happen.

And eternity to start.

The Choice

I saw you.

Covered in streams of Gold,

Hidden in a heart of glass.

Lost child at breaking dawn,

A present and future Lost in the Past.

A body of light trapped in the flesh

like a box of whispers in nights of cold,

Bind and caress. Attend and repress

Secrets and mysteries yet to unfold!

An ocean of rippled fears romancing dreams.

Or a temple of silence buried in stone

A human, A God, Spirit or Fiend

Bound by the moon, forever alone.

Born out of luck, driven to hazard

Swirling a poem into dance

Hidden in fear, breathing disaster

In life’s rewarding riddle of chance.

A bible of words and prophecies of love

Or a sphinx of poems into desire.

We are flashes of warmth rising above

broken within lost ego's of fire.

I see animal roars ethereal like smoke

As swallows dancing into the mist,

Chants of children someone awoke

A veil of sorrow, unwanted beast.

We are breathing poison in lungs of gold

In the wind of glitter bound to your voice.

The future holds what no man can hold

As for light to beat the shadows, through your choice!

                                                             

“Moments of Glory”  (Eager to be born)

It is to wonder,

Why the light in my eyes never seems to cease.

Almost as fireflies on an evening sky

And besides the ego plunder, 

And the Rocking thunder.

I breathe your smile in the winter breeze

And ride the laughter That is due to die 

I see the sparkle in your eyes, 

Fainting in winds of foreign dust.

And it lingers in the desire

Like ashes to flaming fire.

Freezing the sound of my cries

As Sounding words of lust. 

And if I trust, And if I dream,

And in a whisper I tell my story.

I wonder the pain,

And the falling rain

Coursing in my life stream

Moments of Glory! 

I discover your kiss,

In the sparrow that sings over my window.

And the breaking of a new dawn.

And aside the bliss And all I've missed

I embrace my sin,

And the shadow Of all I've been

To deliver this love,

Eager to be born!

                               

Beacons

I sing beacons of light

Fading into the night,

I scream whispers that cry

Devouring sigh.

Oh the souls that i lost

Come to me for the key.

I am eager to grasp

This man i wanna be.

Peace as my goal

I surrender to fate.

In the depths of my soul

Iv'e been shallow, I've been great.

And in this world of sorrow,

where chimeras are friends 

my heart has been borrowed

making amends.

After a life of excess,

I long for redemption,

I had lust, had caress,

But not love's satisfaction.

I drown in the silence

of words I'm yet to say.

Cause i built broken castles,

My ego took away.

I feel lost, but i dream

of the warmth in a stranger

trading sadness and sin

for its succumbing danger.

So i sing without fear,

laughing riddles of trust

to this shadowy seer

brought to life from my dust.

In the end, all i see,

are the faces of regret,

twisting chances into me

like an oracle's roulette.

And i whisper a goodbye,

For i know within me

We are oceans into sky

Beacons meant to be.

"Loneliness is the luck of all exceptional spirits"

Arthur Schopenhauer

"In people with average capacity, modesty is nothing but pure honesty. But in those who possess great talent, it's Hypocrisy. "

Arthur Schopenhauer

"What is modesty if not a hypocritical Humility through which a man asks for forgiveness for having the qualities and merits others do not."

Arthur Schopenhauer