in the middle of a quiet universe
the ice cubs flow on rainbow strings
stories disintegrate between the orient and the yellow coffin
a world under a burning flesh sphere
the angels moan in the middle pages of our morning dreams
we all lust for the prophecy sword
the key has been turned
occultation from a metamorphic hemisphere
the rain will never stop

*

the statues of Buddha sleep silently
covered with pillows of dust
the eunuchs have already started to conger up curses
in the languages of an earth forgotten through pieces of snow
wood faces the axe with dignity
the hits melting in a sensitive void
we are just old men lost amongst fractures of sunset
looking in vain
for the shores sunken into the abyss

*

the ships leave for Valinor
there will always be another chance for the wise
the white tower shines blossoming clouds
listen to the sound of the trumpets
war calls us home my friend
shields flow on restless waters, hiding wraiths
green invades stones modeling the arcade
come to me, to me
birds flying, sweeping away, the earth
everything transforms into hope
look towards the sunrise, in the 666-th day
there the light will shine arrogant
more beautifully than ever

*

the story flows through the deepest forests
let’s go south whisper the old trees
where the water doesn’t resemble sulfur
and the story source still guards this world of the dragons
cries come from inside the mountain
the gods are sleeping drowned in nectar
destroying the ruins
today the oil is left without a place to burn

*

the shaman wins one more time
smiles from the voodoo dolls blossom…
or the orgies of the nights embodied by blue fire
azure turned, souring up hate
Salahadin finally understood the lesson of tolerance
you can never build peace through blood
galleries are confessions of failure
darkness can only shiver through crevasses
the wind died on a mountain lip

*

every step you tell me about
the kiss carried on the gold wings of a condor
symbols inside our hearts
and monumental illusions
catastrophic in their temporal greatness
all come crumbling down, crying souls
the mirror will always show
the same hand of sand
disturbed

*

Hallelujah
whisper the demons dividing the world into nadir and zenith
the last trip of the emerald star
broken down behind a so pale horizon
beyond the limits there is only dust
making the nothing sleepy
transforming it into a fantasy, a potter’s face
the artist unfortunately created beings too
instead of remaining on landscapes

*

behind the curtains there is only void
the searchers will bury their hand deep inside the tomb of qi
monads flow in other paintings
more nice, more kind
drowned in mist
and everywhere the old horn will sound again in the deep
forward
for a last red dawn…
death!

*

suffering is lost on unclaimed roads
we can not choose between life and a lonely Kashmir
groups of cullies flow on the tear paved streets
constantly drugged with flesh dusts
in the last moment, before everything will have ended
you will understand
and you will come to join me, on the highest mountain
to see the drops of the universe fall
transforming the agony of dust
into smaller and smaller circles