He seemed out of the world
The words in his notebook
Swirled with curiosity.
A rhyme led him into the woods
And reality became a sacrilege.
He took different forms, as
An ever changing mask;
The letters burnt his own self away
And he became no one, but the
Never ending stories in his pen.

Oh, I want to move into a painting,
To an endless sunset
To those purple strokes,
Pink leaves and yellow flows.
Oh I want that red sun-storm
To burn that brick city behind Me,
To born a Forest,
Grass peas and a flickering Sea.

The ground whispered
Wonders into my eyes,
Birds laid wisdom
Onto my chestnut arms.
Those moonshines were
Clashing through my petal ears
And the Sun rained tears
Under my rosy fears.

Oh, I am crying gently
Because I know that green pioneer…
It surrounded me with
Scrooching seas, church roses
And endless greens.
It sent me a deer, a tiger and an eel,
And with flowing spirits
Together we mumbled the only real…

Nature is the world
And
The world is Me.

I just want to catch on fire
With the mountains around me,
But to leave that magnolia tree
By the green lake
With the reflection of Me.

Oh meddled river,
Carry my soul away on your bare back,
I am raging up in my void.
I was so lost in this concrete world…
My thoughts were painted backwards
And my body was floating above
Others’ ambitions.
My eyes were my responsibility,
To see the chirping bird
Behind the dead cat in the street.
My hands were my truth,
To touch some love
After a disappointing rush.
My lips were my secret,
To talk to myself after
The treason of humanity.

Such a weird thing in its nature ;
It flings out of space,
It is wild,
As unexpectedly gentle sometimes.
You are waiting
With unwrappable hands
Around its purpose,
And then suddenly
You are in the right moment.

And suddenly the meaning of love became so slow:
I was not flying, I was not high,
It did not blind me;
The world became spacious:
All the details went clear, the colours were bright
And I just stood on the stiff ground without a deadly rushing love.