Reality of the Madman

Hatred has enslaved

our most beautiful dreams

of freedom.

Compassion plays with remorse.

Come back before our hope

is reborn with winter.

I cannot color my dreams so beautifully,

I cannot carve in your heart.

My body, devoid of soul,

rises high, catches memories

of the bleeding horizon.

My life is like a song without words,

a song without longing

for the best.

Incapacitated memory no longer

concerns dumb stars.

From between the lips of heaven,

embodied thoughts flow,

fantasies that will never return

with the reality of the madman.