This poem was written in a moment where things were not eay but love was there, standing still.
Make your happiness or misery into words, make them poetry cause they’ll fly and they will dwell in those hearts who read them.


We are that thing,

That exception of nature,

The beautiful sound of the water 

Through the rocks.

We are the awareness of the whole, 

Of the life, of the love…

… But still, we are not together.

We are the pieces of the compass,

Solving the mystery of the lust,

Laughing with the touching of the senses

Feeling with the words of the poets.

We are the flight of the birds,

The sun in the horizon

The wind and the leaves,

But yet, we are not together.

Our history is like those ones,

That, unbelievably, we believe

That don’t exist in the mind 

Of crazy writers 

And sinner priests.

We are the nowhere

We are the space

We are the sand and the concrete

We are the time

We are one

But still, we are not together.


Lust is a word
full of emptiness
and passion
and pain.
Lust is a place
full of smiles
and broken hearts
and red tears.
Lust is a song
full of movement
and rythm
and voice.
Lust is you
that’s full of me
and we create art
that kills love