Foreigner.

Does a poem explain itself? A book, a metaphor. How to capture an abstract idea into a common code? Feelings that aren't made of flesh, their lack of shape makes them unique, their beauty lies there; ephemeral shine of the mind, going nowhere but to words. Are they enough?

There are those who eat others idea and digest theirs. Shaping into their will what understand. How could this ending fine. Explaining myself is a hard fight to get listen by someone having the same fight.

Is there anyother way? No. Even when words are not easy to manage, they are our best shot. To overcome my fear, I'll use them even when they might not build a vivid form of my ideas.

The following is not more than an attempt to make those words part of my "reality". The act to write is to hold a second in eternity, is the power to create a collective deja vu. Once written the idea becomes an statue, a permanent remainder of his death.

So here is the dilema; what language? Nowadays I live in my dream, among history and modernity, In a corner of the world, where 2000 years touch. Have you walk around London?

English seem the only way to describe London. Beautiful and efficient, a perfect mixture of nature and human predation. London is stunning, rock break into beautiful shapes, trees and landscapes behind bars as they where grounded, only English can be as sharp and soft.

Sorry I'll try my best, or my worst.

DARK

1. Swords swiping my hand, 

Droplets of red blood fly,

Your image bright in my mind,

As your eye black die.

Loud last cry!

As life runaway,

I have learned from the best,

Written in the words of your faith.

2. Freedom is what I want!,

I will take it from you head,

I will drained it from your veins,

Drill my will away!

Green freedom,

In the pocket, 

Protected by bullets,

Worthy of doom.

Life is such a treasure, 

A price you have to pay, 

Life is not for granted, 

Soon you'll die,

Profit as fast as I can. 

 3. Aren't we animals?

Aren't we bitting each other; 

For peace, food and shelter?

Weren't we the ones who realised 

That nature can be tough, 

Shaping the instinct? 

Run! 

Quiet riot of ideas!

A burst of flame, rage!

Whose to blame!? Blame!

Words from the pain... fear, lonely,

Shining draining flake of blood...

We will be nothing but petrol, 

We much love, 

A stain of coal in a grey wall...

No color only grey painting in sand. 

3. God's will 

Is us, 

I can feel, 

Not to lose.

I can hear his cold whisper,

Feel his hot punch, 

... am I... such, 

Or do I feel it in the laughter? 

You listen what he said! 

And yet you go ahead! 

Is not him, neither them!

Is your will and head!

If you going to enjoy the pleasure,

Keep in you the blame! 

... is what... you... hate!

4. 

Demons' land

 Tie clowns,

 City of demons

 Greed and lust.

 His commandments are written backwards,

 Kill.  Greed.  Steal.

 Break.  Torture.  Hate.

 You'll drink your blood.

 The land of the beasts.

 devour.  Burn.  Extinguish.

 Soot everything that was green.

 Live taken to finish.

 Let the damned rule!

 The hopeful, ... food,

 Of the hungry vulture, ... his eye.

 The softest place of horror.

 Darkness! sentence in the air flies,

 The land of monsters,

 Release the beasts.