Violence is red,roses are blue
Such rareness in a bloom
Happy is the one who in his last moment holds in his hands the “lies” he cultivated all its life.
It was upon a Winter's stormy night
The immense joy that took over me only left as I downed my sword and started to climb in despair and ache from the thorns that made my flesh bare.
And there I was
from the longest distance,at the highest peak,of the highest mountain.
As I stood there I could only really listen to the endless silence of infinity in the absence of my toughts, and I was purely happy for once.
And there it was
Equal to its own essence, its shape and contour possessed the rhythm of the abstract
Each of its nine petals was made up of wisdom,misterys,dreams,aspirations and secrets
It`s secret lighter and darker than unattainable blue
I could feel every experience of my being.
Every suffering! Every joy!
With the intensity of every breath I took,every tear I dropped
Every sado-masochist feeling I had?I felt!
I was my pure inner manifestation
I was my own self revelation now
So distant of my own existence
My feelings!the secrets and mysteries of my own heart,now exposed.
I could just behold the fragments of myself
Violence is red
Roses are blue
Life is sour
What am I to you?
I know you!your past,your future,I am your seed,I am your source.
Was this my graceful death?
What a long, strange and perilous journey its has been...