HATHOR

The fire in the sky is extinguished,
Blue waters no longer cry
The dancing of trees has stopped
The stream of freshness from cold winds
Exists no longer
The rain has stopped to drip
From the sky
Still dripping exists
From the veins of a nearly dead boy
Once there was hatred
Once there was cold
Now there is only
A dark stone tomb with an altar
An altar which
Serves as a bed
A bed of eternal sleep
The dreams of the human in sleep
Are dreams of relief
A gate out of hell
Into the void of death
Yet undisturbed
The human sleep
And one day
Will the grave be unlocked
And the soul
Must return to his world
But this time as
A lost forgotten sad spirit
Doomed
To haunt
Endlessly
My life is made of emotions,
passions and horrors, 'cause when you truly
live you can even fall into deep pain
My bed is made of small fresh leaves,
moving slowly like a requiem
My temple is made of dark gloomy trees,
coming loose along a black oval path
My chant is a desperate and irreverent elegy,
composed in honour of those who have no reserve and
fear
Hordes of maleficent and false sins come back upon me.
Shall I ever let my mind wander over the sad effect
this filthy disease causes to my limbs and to my heart?
I believe the persistence of the thin line of hope is
worth this effort
I believe its benefice can reach the intensity
of full and perpetual delight
Nothing is true, all is allowed
In every dramatic situation there is
a subtended element of absurdity and humor
Every dogma contains something unhealthy and corrosive
Our identities change every day with our memories
We are not always what we really are, 'cause we
reinvent ourselves
We change our skin and consistence
And we lie with innocence, trusting our memory.