Void
I knock on my empty chest
There is no answer from inside
But a lazy breathing echo
Bumping the ribs at my side.
An empty cave and nothing else
One crashed box and nothing more
A still and silent gray void
A without start or finish bore.
Lighted candles now do nothing
But burn out in painless vain
Discoloring my walls with shadows
Accompanying the silent rain.
My soul stares back with open mouth
Letting out no breathing sound
Blinking once, twice and then
Sitting down gazing around.
Papers lay on the wooden floor
I step over with noisy feet
Take a deep breath and cross over
Reaching the corner, the void I meet!
Trying to breathe
Why is there guilt
when I know it’s right?
When it’s pure and simple
why is there the doubt?
Why I feel like dying
for trying to live?
Why I feel like crying
for trying to breathe?
Why is it that laws
sometime in the dark
Turn themselves in claws
to leave in you a mark?
Mark of nails and fingers
squeezing on your throat
Like some nasty diggers
wearing a black coat.
Digging on your ribs
on your heart and eye
Throwing on their cribs
the wings that make you fly.
And you sit down and cry
for a lonely season.
Then run to grab the sky,
blind or without reason!
There is no answer from inside
But a lazy breathing echo
Bumping the ribs at my side.
An empty cave and nothing else
One crashed box and nothing more
A still and silent gray void
A without start or finish bore.
Lighted candles now do nothing
But burn out in painless vain
Discoloring my walls with shadows
Accompanying the silent rain.
My soul stares back with open mouth
Letting out no breathing sound
Blinking once, twice and then
Sitting down gazing around.
Papers lay on the wooden floor
I step over with noisy feet
Take a deep breath and cross over
Reaching the corner, the void I meet!
Trying to breathe
Why is there guilt
when I know it’s right?
When it’s pure and simple
why is there the doubt?
Why I feel like dying
for trying to live?
Why I feel like crying
for trying to breathe?
Why is it that laws
sometime in the dark
Turn themselves in claws
to leave in you a mark?
Mark of nails and fingers
squeezing on your throat
Like some nasty diggers
wearing a black coat.
Digging on your ribs
on your heart and eye
Throwing on their cribs
the wings that make you fly.
And you sit down and cry
for a lonely season.
Then run to grab the sky,
blind or without reason!