to live
and
to be alive
are different
concepts:

to live,
one simply has
to exist;

to be alive,
one has to believe
in making some
difference.

for me,
these concepts
come in waves,
up and down;

some days,
i feel dead
inside and nothing
can bring me
back...

other days,
i feel awake
inside and out,
ready to lend a
helping hand.

every day,
i do my very best
not to drown in
a body that seems to
be missing
a soul,

yet i am not perfect
and i have a tendency
to simply surrender to
what it is that pulls
my legs down to the

bottom.

as you turn 73 today,
I wish you good health
and happiness;
because life without
those two things
is a life in
solitude.

one day,
it rained outside;

we didn't care
that we were in socks
when we went out to
dance under it,

we didn't care
that we were in socks
when we went out to
jump in the big puddles.

one day,
it rained outside;

you took my hand
lead me until we reached
a meadow; it was there
you pulled me close and
kissed me under the rain,

you took my hand
lead me until we reached
a meadow; it was there
you pulled me close and
whispered in my ear:

*"I love you"

make a deal with
a demon or the
devil, himself,
and automatically
grant yourself a
free ticket to ride
down to the
pits of Hell.

when your side
of the deal is up,
don’t be alarmed to
hear the viscous sound
of growling and barking;
they’re only Hell Hounds,
really nothing to be afraid of,
seeing as they’re only doing their job.

sure, they will tear
your clothes into shreds,
search for your heart to
slice it open, and make you
bleed until death greets and
shakes you warmly by the
hand to welcome you to
your new home.

the flames of Hell will
lick your soul for days,
which will seem like many
years back in Earth,
as you are bound with
chains on each leg and arm;
you will scream for help, you
will scream for a loved one,

but in the end,
no one can hear
you and your pity.

small boats made from old
newspapers, a small puddle
that bleeds into a narrow
stream, and us. well, not
us exactly; more like our
souls trapped into a smaller
form than we're used to.

in those boats,
we sailed that
narrow stream
to uncertainty.

once there,
everything
became
one big blur;

everything
we knew
about each
other,

wasn't true.

we had lied
to one another,

but why?

we watched
as the words
on our boats
oozed out,

knowing that
when the rain
stops, the damage
would still be done.

like birds,
we sat on
tree branches
of our own lives,
singing to please
others before
ourselves.

wherever
they flew,
we simply followed
mindlessly,
believing in desired
freedom and no
limits.

while others
sang of joy,
we preferred a more
mellow tune;
from our lips
we called out a sorrowful
melody that only
a few number could
understand.

a tragic end,
we faced together.

i saw you fall,
ever so gracefully,
to your death;

but before i could
mourn,
it was my turn to fall.

my world turned
cold and all my
nightmares were
alive.

at least now,
we're at ease
and together.

children were laughing
behind the thin walls,
singing those nursery
rhymes we all have
heard of once before.

no one knows why
they come out only
at night, when we’re
all trying to sleep
with eyes shut tight.

if you listen real
close, you’ll hear
them whisper your
name when it’s
close to sunrise.

they only
want to
you to
help them
before it’s

too

late.