I've always wondered,
why do I want this?
"It's not mine" is the answer

Why would I want to know what's beneath others' heads, minds?
       Simple
              Plain
                      Strong
Curiosity.

Was it a tiny coloured line,
was it a black endless nothing.

A bunch of lights, twisted, flipped and drifting
A mass of them, and among this nothigness, a shadow

It had its own charisma,
its own shape
its own personality

It shined, though black
It crumbled, though strong,
and jumped, cheerful,
but it was far,
and the brief and narrow coloured line widened

Days went by, so did people
Did friends, did more than friends, did girlfriends

None of them, full or empty, fulfilled that shape

Nor did they dislike me
I even loved some,
but I didn't

And when I found her,
the woman in the shadow shape,
dreamed I in peace

Such was him
Behind those bars

He knew of a much further land
Sun red as blood, snow not that white

Not an inch of dust would filter through
Not a single memorie would find him,
there where he was,
deep down.

Though, he coud have, somehow,
might have asked,
"what shall be my sin, dear guard?
That, the one, to me unknown,
which my dreams far away from me hides?"

"Never mind" said the armoured man;
"why should know such a lowlife,
why should know such a piece of trash,
values him nothing more than living, the clues to
his crimes?"

Might he never be back to his country,
might never again see that red sun,
though for sure

Shall he never rest among dust.