Why can't I

.
If blue birds fly over the rainbow...

...Why, oh why...

...Cant I?...

Don't know why..

.
You're aching, you're breaking
And I can see the pain in your eyes
Says everybody's changing
And I don't know why..

So little time
Try to understand that I'm,
Trying to make a move just to stay in the game
I try to stay awake and remember my name
But everybody's changing and I don't feel the same

O umbigo nosso de cada dia

.
Cada um com o seu, umbigo nosso de cada dia em torno do qual tudo gira, tudo acontece, tudo permanece.
E somos deuses com os nossos umbigos, preocupados que estamos com os nossos negócios, nossas mazelas, a nossa escuridão, a nossa podridão.

Não,

ninguém há-de saber o que se passa, pois somos só nós e os nossos umbigos.
Os senhores da vida e da palavra.
Donos da verdade e da falta dela quando convém.
Donos da dignidade que ninguém vê.
Passeamos, pés acorrentados aos fantasmas do passado, e as marcas, juramos,
ninguém as tem tão profundas e sulcadas, sangrando a nossa última gota do sangue já gelado.

Ninguém.

Não olhamos para o lado, para o que agoniza caído no chão, não.
Porque a nossa dor, ora, é infinitamente maior.
Quem é o fulano, com seu umbiguinho tão pequenininho para se achar no direito
de sofrer mais, ou acreditar que a sua dor seja maior?

Não.
Gente estúpida!
Quanta gente estúpida!
Restamos eu, e meu umbigo.
E a dor, que é minha por merecimento.

Feel the Lillium

Feel the breeze...
Feel the wind, touching us...
Its there inside...
The feelings go much out from our heart...

I can see you,
I can feel you.
You are with me...
Nothing else could be as this is.

Follow me,
on the great road..
Follow me and you will see
that the night...comes right above our souls and our minds.

Can I touch you?
Can I hold you close?
Cause you're so different from all the thing I know.

Follow me...into the light...
Follow me...this is the right way to condemn...misery...

I can see... you right above.
I can see... You standing there.
Can you hold my little hand?
Can you hold my little soul...

Special one.

Your skin glows like the pure crystal, blossoms beautiful as the red rose in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your violin voice and leaps like a kittycat at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great eagle wing.
Your body that I carry into the twilight of moonbeams and hold next to my heart comforts me.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of watery cry.
As my mind falls from my dream, it reminds me of your presence.
In the quiet, I listen for the last bird singing of the day.
My heated soul leaps to my heart. I wait in the moonlight for your secret wisper so that we may cry as one, soul-to-soul, in search of the magnificient black and mystical feeling of love.

[Um poema que fiz para ingles há já algum tempo, não tendo namorado, sendo esta pessoa aqui falada um amor ainda não conhecido.]

Anger

If anger was a color
It would be bright red.
If anger was a taste
It would be just like red peppers.
If anger was a feeling
It would be as turbulent as pot of boiling water on high flame.
If anger was a smell
It would be awful as a landfill on a summer's day.
If anger was a sound
It would be loud as a parent when you come home late for dinner.

(Just something to cheer this place up)