Moving

The void...

Yes, The void.

An empty space

between

nothing.

The water...

Yes, the water.

A big place to hide

between sirens and poems

Speak...

Yes, the art of speaking.

A place where my tongue live

the same place as you tongue sings.

Life...

Yes, the life.

A catatonic state

where you can find your light,

your shadows,

your demons,

your dreams.

Dreams...

Yes, the dreams...

An oceanic place,

hidden from your eyes,

hidden from the world.

As long as the void appears in the land.

How can I explan to my soul?

when my aching heart only knows about

the shadows of the storm

in spite of 

the silver lining of a song?

It's hard to explain to the ocean

the jokes that tangle it my own land

I prefer to turn off my strong desire,

the one who speaks and write:

to the void,

to the ocean,

to the dreams,

to the life...

As long as the silence increases,

I see this landscape created for two broken into pieces

and Yes, I know:

I'm not the hero of biblical stories.

I'm not the good-one of a cheap film.

I'm the most horror character in a fantasy book.

I'm the most imaginative soul,

who thinks he's the one that could take the waves with both hands

and open this entire ocean to seed 

the most beauty infernal flower throught those scars that reminds me:

"Moving liquid

Yes, you are just as water.

You flow around all that comes in your way.

Don't think it over,

It always takes you over,

And sets your spirit dancing."