The man

The truth that I knew,
The lies of the beloved

I find trust waning every night
With my lover besides in the dark

What could I know?
But a pretty face and her enchanting breath

A poison to my lungs,
The smell of her hair like the roses

If two can’t walk the night,
Then my soul alone,

She battle the moon’s phantoms
And tread the path to a new dawn

The boulevard of dreams
Cars and dresses

The mirrors on the street
Strangers and their reflections

Climbing stairways to a heaven
Their names engraved into the clouds

The point is,
A man is but himself

Not the woman in his bed,
Not the suits and clone on his skin

But his dreams,
And the will to achieve them

For what surrounds is but pictures,
Changing, as he walks, along his path

image

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Movie

Filth stenches
Air cold
Whiskers weighed,
By the tiny pearls of a mountain dew
Tramples heavy feet on a bare rock

If the path of a soul is a lost one,
Purpose is to gods
And wondering is to the moon
Across a dark sky,
Searching rays of the morning star

The peak is a horizon
Moving it’s walls as one strides closer
Caught in a bubble of life,
Life a movie
Playing along a runtime

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