I am the earth still breathing
through the leaves and the thorns
deepest in the heart of the lovers,
In a time so thick that only
nothingness can get by its unborn pains
and dark aged nightmares roaring,
I am the spark in the seeing of the eagle
attacking its prade,
The boiling heart inside of the hunter
taking the blood smell of Poseidon
miles away from fate
(seconds-shinning from dark freedom)
I am the skar healing after the wound
of tormented souls dieing
in the prison of existance,
The shudder of sighs crying
oceans inside oceans,
I am the I becoming you, becoming me
late nights when the cold earth
reaches its twelfth howling
of the seventh purgatory flickness
of the forsaken unnamed fallen angel...