I want you to dig a hole into yourself
I want you to go down
Down to the deepest parts
To the forefathers of your secrets
Dig
Dig to the
Fears of men
fears like first step in a day
Droughts of hope
droughts as punishing
like cold bed during the night
No flesh will stop you
Once you get there
I want you to stop
cause' down there
you don't want any chaos
just observe, listen and feel
it will remind you of your roots
how you fell from tree asa child
how you planted your first seed in a garden
how you mourned the loss of your dog
how you loved just to lay in bed next to your beloved
Do you feel it?
it will guide you eventually
Don't ask
Of course you are ready
You always have been
You just forgot how to dig
for things you always knew


Start diggin'
It's time.

Beginning the morning
the sun peaks unto the world
and always overlooks
that which is hidden behind the hills

Patiently biting its time
it moves one tiny step forward
until it shines upon everything alive
except the caves of deepest depths
where those with whom I’m alike dwell
in the dark
in the cage
of wounded heart
forgetting everything
that could cast some light-
the stars
the sun
a true love

Now
I must say
I have many dreams
but
There is one
close and dear
of mine

to meet her never again
but
at the end of our lives
just
to ask her how was life
how was love
and she wouldn't have
to ask me the same;
but
regardless she gladly
would and without any
hesitation
at all
and after that
we would just
sit there and watch
realizing
how
much
precious
life
was
and
is.

Dreary pictures of phosphorescent
times when you and me were together
hang from little strings attached
to the ceiling skies full of aether

The flaming red flowers I gave you
once turned all gray and aweary
During some thousand hours
in our arms we couldn’t say sorry

I watch you walk away saying
this time it’s for real darling
in the end it’s always the same
we keep on living (we keep on dying)

When you turn for the last time
expecting to see me cry
I’ll stand there piercing your eye
with tears for you to satisfy

Why is it so hard to write poetry when I'm happy?
When I'm content?
When I'm gloriously in love?

Is it a requirement that I be in rage, in sorrow, in pain?
Drunk? High? Comatose?

Can I just not find the right words to describe my feelings?
Or maybe I don't need this outlet when I'm happy. I don't need to cut my emotions from my chest and attach them to words. I want my emotions here with me.

I cannot tell you what I do or how I feel anymore
I won't let myself be the root for pain or stress

I refuse to be the antagonist in your story
Better me to be an unmentioned character

I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.

i'm erasing myself from the narrative

You knocked
and I opened so quickly
it was almost as if I were expecting you

You smiled
and it was the only time
I could control my mind whilst losing it

You kissed
and blank was the world
of past and future (it was only you and now)

You left
and what could I do but write
this poem about so little happiness in

man’s life

Being among books
with music
always satisfied me
I had that feeling
of belonging

Listening to piano
put me to the right
mood when I was
alone
Cold sad keys kept
my mind at peace
but even
a
sad poet needs a
wild dancer

Sax seduced me,
lifted me up
to the streets
the winds
by my side.

only
one
ingredient  
missing.

The ferocity
of
drums
connected the last
two into complete
purity

Reality is gorgeous