Friday, December 16, 2016


There's something deep in mankind's memory
Of life in the earliest phase of time
That makes the sound of raindrops on the roof
Lull us to the sweetest sleep paradigm.

At times I wake broken
By words never spoken,
Gestures that were token,
And wish I'd not woken.
I sleep through deepest dreams
Of escape, or so it seems,
For I'm captive to schemes
Of torment at extremes.
More than ever before
I walk lost on this shore,
Only certain of 'your',
Never 'my' any more.
Somewhere I lost the plot,
Perhaps I just forgot,
Crazed by the question 'what?',
Robbed of all, but not a lot.

What is it that mythology recalls?
Why are there monsters in folklores?
Were the firstborn of humanity
Food for freaks or dinosaurs?
But now we are devoured,
In glorious postmodernity,
By the lies our minds devise
In our blindness to eternity.