under the impression of an english angel
not today but possibly tomorrow she will dwell again in sorrow
back in line she will decline for fear and anguish will prevail
forcing on her deprivation, bringing forth the need to borrow
from her undetermined neighbours who emotionless remain
following the path of Kain, weeping over the death of him
who lives. the emptiness beneath, ahead, around
the shrieking noises, creeping soil, only the coil
on my finger lets me linger on, holding ground
numbing the sound hearing the voices
from behind. you are not kind you force me
to surrender to your pre-existing will
i cry out let me know, let me see
but you can never be
more than a picture in my mind an impression on my skin (from within?)
the whispering path of my thoughts, could be…
but you will never clear this doubts, the blur of my view,
take away the weakness from my body
my mind can never understand like yours
or be sure about his course
i only follow hoping that the path will lead
to a purer tomorrow without pain and sorrow
[...]
You are a child.. no you are. Me? Not at all, i’m as old as life can be, bending backwards on my knee over all this time that came to me and passed and circled round never to end. now you are here and keep me near i don’t know why i hold your hand you take suspense for permanence in no way other than your mother. child, you, little one, young one, unknowingly wise, why you despise the world you see only with your eyes, its your heart that cries, because its afflicted, addicted to ideals, more than there can ever be.
