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.

A touch of silver

Since my first morning on this humble rock
I was inherited with some  kind of a tedency
A longing, to touch the sky,
To end up among the constellations.

How hard it can be to tell what's right and what's not...

The devil won't come on a flaming chariot
With shadow steeds pulling it,
Nor will rise from the depth of the ocean
Swallowing islands.

He is a silent voice in one's head,
Telling him to look away,
He is an act of usurpation,
An act of jealousy
An act of selfishness

So, how can the hero be an angel,
Spreading his wings all over us;
With blinding light driving the fiend away?
Or a demigod,
Slicing the leviathan in one hit,
Leading the princess to his kingdom?

No heaven; Know heaven

"I never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude"

Since I was down again last night
I thought that some crowd might cheer me up
So I took a long shot and went to the cinema
And watched a new mainstream film

I couldn't help it but realize
That as individuals
We tend to empathize with the villain
Rather than the hero

Made by an unknown and anonymous creator
Left in darkness
Alone
To find a sense of purpose

And turn into suicidal war maniacs
Since the savior's ethics are unattainable
Out of reach
Leading us to perish

Incomplete
Desperate
And in solitude

T̶o̶r̶n̶ Born

It's been since the world began that man

Tended to worship and fear the one that was

Greater in size and beyond in perception

Than his tiny body and simple mind and 

In times of fear and weakness turned into

Them for sign that never came or a sign

Ιnvented. In that great forces, to whom

Once a great king offered his daughter

To gain their favor for a safe travel,

He has once again turned to bless him

With their sanity not to aim his blade

To his chest but to relieve himself from loss.

His only company is himself and the waves,

and the clouds above his head:

"The winds and waves are against again today
As they always are for the blasphemers
And to the weak who beg for shelter.
The winds the waves are the tutor and the guide
For them lost and sad and desperate
Forcing them to hearken to the sound of freedom.
The winds and waves and I are having
Everyday the most joyful and sorrowful
Conversations; The truth of living meets
The pain of feeling. The sea speaks to me
Through the tide trying to get me
Into my senses to discover
Myself once more, once and for all.
The ocean striking itself and the ship
Produces the finest voice which reaches
The depths of my soul;
Consulting and scolding me
For abandoning my heart
In a barless prison.
Disobeying the ancient one
I take her letter out of my pocket
And read it once again
And tears fill my eyes
As I read the last line:
'Adieu, mon amour et mon ami'
Wild thoughts again cross my mind
To use the sea as the mean
To be together once more.
If I close my eyes and feel the breeze
touching my neck a sensation comes to me
Of her breath and a sound in my mind
Of the words she spoke
Of her shattered dreams.
Oh wind and wave, how I could have known
What great companions you can be
In these time of sorrow
Whom I tossed upon myself!
Oh wind and wave, how I could have known
That in calmness and in turmoil
You sprout a great wisdom
Born since time itself made you
Self-aware?
 Oh wind and wave, how I could have known
 You can feel my pain
Of eternal internal struggle
In which you are also bound