Shouting against golden walls

"Remember these words my friend: Noone cares. And when I say to you noone I mean noone. One day you might be starving, thirsty, on the street; nobody will bother to turn their heads. We are alone. But not just us, everyone even them the high and mighty who will ignore and mock you. If you want things done you will have to do them yourself. The hard way. Wear a shining armor, grab a singing sword and get on the raging battlfield screaming and yelling, siezing the day, siezing and conquering like warriors that bards sing of in their songs. And in the end when you are lying bleeding n the dirt and that's only when the eyes of the world will be upon you. But dear Patroclus, lest we forget, in a world of earth and fire, of sea, water and wind, we only live to become a mere part of."

Our truth

I have a part in everything
Every day I am  called to fight for what is right, for what is just.
For all evil men need, is good men doing nothing.
We all have a part in everything
And our part in this play is to smash the usurpers
To smash them hard.

The machine has only but a few concerns:
Feasting on the sweat of our brow
Sending our brothers to fight their wars for them
Doing everything in their power to keep us down

But all we need is a fighting chance
And he is giving it to us.
That fat sleazy pedophile thinks we are kidding
He stands on his porch all high and mighty and shouts in his devilish tongue:
"Quem vultis dimittam vobis?"

And we scream with all our might
"Barabbas!" "Barabbas!"
We scream until we have no voice left in our lungs 
Until our throats bleed and our eyes turn red

Oh, I can see the tyrant's face
Looking with regret at the poor madman he sentenced to death
Then with disappointment at the hero he is releasing to us
 
Oh! mighty savior! Your name is meant to echo through eternity!

Hope leaves

Last night woke up to a fiery nightmare:
I was living inside a concrete cage,
Forcing myself to wake up every morning;
Forcing myself to fall sleep every night.
There was nothing else but the screen
Talking to the screen,
Learning from the screen,
Loving through the screen.
Sometimes it was so small it could fit in your palm.
Sometimes it made you feel lilliputian.
But always there, like a loyal servant.

I remember standing on the edge of my cage
To see hundreds of others:
Countless piles of concrete boxes,
With countless lilliputian men living in them.

That was when I closed my eyes
Trying to imagine how would another world feel like:

I tried to think of myself in front of the wild ocean,
Breathing upon me,
Allowing its air to fill my lungs;

Inside a calm forest
Feeling the sun caressing my skin
Blessing me with its warmth;

Then, in a prairie, so serene
That the beating heart in my chest
And the streaming tears running on my chicks
Were in perfect harmony with the earth's pulse.

My eyes were still soaking wet when I came to my senses
Of the painful vision
Of a man's needs.

The sound of violence

Certainly they exist.
Although it is a matter of perspective.
One man's hero might as well be another man's demon.
But they do exist.
They are out there, waiting, inspiring,
Sprouting out of everyday's hardships.

But who do we call a hero?
Someone who managed to live his life prosperous
Raising healthy children
And ending up dying content
In his old age
In his sleep?

No.

A hero must have embraced pain
Dragged on the streets
Beaten to death,
And torn apart.
That's the way one earns this title:
Through obliteration.

But we need them.
Alas, the world wants them;
With a desire so intense
That is constantly creating them.

Tunnel fright

Them? What about them?
They will keep using their common sense.
Common, as in 'commoner' or 'plebeian'.
The genius of the crowd, as that dirty old man once said.
Their primer feeling is hatred

I never got to understand them you know.
How come one human being
Be stand in front of  the uknown
And in front of that magnificent emotion
Of adapting
Of evolving
And finally ending up choosing rejection.

Those individuals must be truly mislead
To believe that there is not more than reaches the eye
To believe that our essence and of that everything that surround us is worthless.

Even if our gods and all of our hopes are scientific
Yet here we are
Loving and living
To the tunes of the universal strings
And through the transcending energy of the stars.

La sera prima

  ''Just take a look at what they've done... Alexander was poisoned; Socrates has killed himself; Hercules ascended to his people in the sky... And us? We are left behind, alone. And in time we've learned to cope with the endless hate and envy of those not blessed! Don't fool yourself, they would kill us if they could. They would push their knives on us full of fury and treason. Oh! Brutus... We and our divine obsession!''

Sunt lacrimae rerum

In this sea of doubt and turmoil,
Of circulating storms and mischief,
I found myself on a discarded part of Eden,
Where the winds stop blowing
and the waves of sadness are getting drowned in themselves;
Where the confusion and anxiety of existance ends painlessly and peacefully.
There the Creator was resting,
Forcing himself in an unending slumber,
Leaving us  unfinished:
Too young for wisdom
Too old for bliss.

Is that why although we long for happiness,
We are letting go?
Even though all you need to fill one's heart
Is the sun, the ocean and a journey.