A CRY FOR FREEDOM © 2008

To live is not to be, it is a thought imposed,

It is to steal from others' images

And paste them on the face of worst sorrow.

Only a flowing of thought

In tempests, escaping the moment

To not fully feel them within.

On the outside, a burning jealousy, waiting,

That when the time comes, the wind will blow

Intensely to blaze in the atmosphere.

And in that flame, everything is consumed,

From dreams to fears that burn,

And the being, now without a name,

Seeks in the void its own truth.

But the wind, accomplice of fate,

Blows stronger, and the jealousy fades,

Leaving the soul in madness,

Where living, at last, betrays itself.

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