I tried to run away to a far away land,
where the grass was greener,
and the responsibilities leaner.
I ran from the ghosts,
I ran to foggy coasts.
I ran from the memories.
I ran from our mistakes.
I wanted a new me, whatever it takes.
But life, as she often does, had a different plan in mind.
Now I have to say I'm a little less blind.
I have discovered my god,
no not the one you're thinking of.
I found "it" in the history here.
I connected to souls I now hold dear.
I found solace in the here-after in the stones of cathedrals.
I found hope in stone glass windows.
I found peace in battlefields.
I also found pain.
It poured down like rain.
It took my breath away,
trying my best to keep the night at bay.
I no longer fear the ghosts back there.
I fear being stuck in the metaphorical here.
I've now been unwanted,
seen a love be haunted.
I've finally stood up for myself.
Even if they think I have totally fallen off the shelf.
I have embraced my flaws,
finding the power in their claws.
I have gained respect for those waiting for me.
I have learned a new definition of free.
I learned it isn't in the lack of responsibility
but in my magnificent ability.
I find freedom in the doing,
in the dream I'm pursuing.
Here I am.
Tired of fighting.
Tired of running.
Flying home.

All the angels are asleep,
Their shadow selves on the earth open their third eyes,
In the hypnotizing light of the moon,
You must learn to tiptoe between carefully crafted lies.

And in the scarce everglow
Of informality, we sail past a once safe territory,
Trying to impose a new way of survival,
Guided by a thin rope of our frail telepathy.

On islands doomed with demons' names,
We maneuver our demeanors on the peripheries of black holes,
One slip of a condemned tongue,
Is all it shall take to elicit an inevitable fall.

Don't fall for the horizon in view,
And never concede to promises made by Time,
The angels could never wake,
And then you'd forever tiptoe in this infernal night.*

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