Thunder seeks haven

(Picture by Florian Ritter) 

Sometimes,

the guitar sets fire to

the memories and the future.

You just have to burn in the present.

Sometimes

hit your crown of remorse

against the crust of innocent skin.

You just have to hear the rustling in the thunder.

Sometimes

pain plays as an alarm clock,

by an ancient custom.

You have only the distribution of dream.

Sometimes

yearning is an accelerator of regrets,

magic also naked.

You just have to feel the fury of the great pictures.

Sometimes

ghosts hurtful statements they make,

but remember the art of reality.

You just have the private garden of your desolation.

Sometimes,

you need not believe in anything

and the absurd increases night.

You just have your fly of old young man.

Sometimes, small details are saving your emotion,

and stroking the elegance of living inflamed

You just have to beat a center of serenity.

Some channels also of hope.