Blue London

In the dead idols cementery

dust covering crashed airplanes.

Wandering through a nothing.

         Going nowhere.



And there he was

leaving flowers for Aladdin's mind.

I passed him and

our cigarrettes' smoke made a dance.



Streets grew wider and wider;

people, narrow and bored.



What I owe to myself

is far beyond any pay

the lines of my hand

are the scars of the soul.



Clouds and rain

they always come to play

perfect weather

for a melancholic nutcase.



And I didn't want anything back then

nor that I want it now

but it used to be plain and dull

not an ache like nowadays.



People are always busy living and dying,

feeling and believing

doing and going.



In the stare outside mausoleum parade

it was his turn to pass me now

But I was mourning

over missed lover and God.



This city is big and old

From ancient palaces and prisons

to the remembrance through an Eye

and finally the modern bridge

who promises the future to be bright.



In the park people were playing

on going to the moon

in rocket-tree-like



Nobody paid attention to no one

Little universe inside of everyone

Dark glasses reflection

proved how strange life was.



And for the third time

he was in there.

Now he finally caught my attention

not before too-long

But despair is too blind to understand

the passion vortex pushed me hard

and like never before

a muse was born.



The mind of an artist is like a soup

never knowing what you'll find

in the next slide.



But boy! He hit me hard.

and for once in many years

my hands got into my tights.



If we ought to describe him

"perfect" would be in every page.

Walk, stop and strut.

Arrogance and talent coming from the pores.

Intravenous beauty.

Naturally stylish to the core.

Inspiring as a must.



I got lost in his blue eyes

his dark hair and pale face

looking up to him, holding slim.



Snsuality pouting from his lips

he possessed my soul

and far beyond a caprice

he became a drug.



The magician is an artist

on giving some life back to people

well the artist is a magician

on driving people mad.



Even if the streets

and current situations

made life grey

when he showed up

I didn't care about the rest.



In a big window, sunset appears

The bed sheets are a mess.

Radio one puts the hits of yesterday

ha! if only...



But we don't need it

the sound of our minds is enough.



He makes me do things that

like hell I'd do with someone else.



But it wasn't only the bed

The world became our playground

The city was like a fair.



And one day, as always

had to end.

He faded away

only leaving his sound and verses echoing through my head.



As always, I'm f*****g late

My poetry is not that good

otherwise this wouldn't be

boring and annoying to read.



He fucked (and f***s) with my brain

and left love marks all over the place.



Before him was only despair

now is passion pain.



So to end.

          I woke up after the roller-coaster dream

whensomeonegivesyoulifeandtheneverythinggetsworse.

everything out there remains the same

as it was some weeks ago

when I so loved him

        but now

London is b l u e again

Author's Note

sorry, this is a bit long as a friend kindly pointed out, however I still leave it like this otherwise I feel is not complete enough

Reviews

[sentimental~ galore]

Holy s**t, I think I just felt my heart drop. I have never been so intrigued while reading a poem, I felt like I was part of the whole journey. It almost reminded me of a vintage apartment in new york, or bob dylan’s lyrics….and when I compare poetry with bob Dylan I truly loved it. Rare beauty, the kind that you only feel and see every once in a while.

[Sweet & Tender Hooligan]

I think this one is my favourite so far of all your writing.
The dark descriptions and imagery are like honest and brutal cuts
revealing your soul. As I said on another site its a bit extra long but it does
work how it is and its edginess and faults add to its emotion in a real way.