(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.
