Friday, March 24, 2017

The Painting

A mural brushed by eons on the wall,
from a fairy godmother, a lost call,
bells, dust, and dollars on the waste,
last visitors and no poker face.

But a smile from under the veil,
the mysterious prisoner without a bail,
as a quick spider, weaving its web,
a princess is meaningless for a pleb,

A flower, a rose, a common sense,
the wars of angels are getting tense,
and while you´re waiting with a bouquet,
your lips may lie, but your eyes aren´t okay.

And so a chilling mist couldn't fell,
not for a song disguised as a yell,
thus lower your back, take your poise,
in this orchestra of static noise.

This is not the end, as the wars may come,
the moon is for all, but the stars are for some,
what can I say, I just can not lie,
but for a smile, how many can die?

She painted like a kid with her hands,
the flowers, the dollars, the common sense,
and the visitors came after all,
to pay her and to see her fall...

There´s something wrong with what you had paid for...

Thursday, January 12, 2017

A whisper

Solemnly night of a soulless fear,
holding to your heart as it is dear,
in a light shining as courage itself,
under the nightly hour of twelve.

No pearls are hiding under that cloak,
there are no apples under elderly oak,
if words of hope are giving you dread,
heart can shiver,  but the soul is dead.

A beautiful ballad of chance and choice,
a harmony of a swan song and poise,
merely an illusive ending for a heart,
will give your soul an ahead of a start.

An internal winter starts a bonfire,
that fuels the heart and it's desire,
and from that, will births the strength,
which you can travel to any length.

When climbing the hill nears it's end,
it's up to you, if you will crack and bend,
instead of worrying if your luck will shift,
be to yourself the most biggest gift.

A dark night always creates the sun,
after the moon ends it's nightly run,
from a cold wind you can have a blister,
or you can take it as a hopeful whisper.

Life is a dance of a soul and it's heart,
where one would end, the other starts,
a snow is a water inspired by sand,
when taking a bow, prepare your stance.