I wish I could lift her up towards the sky into the stars
Onto this long road
Girl, I know I’m a dreamer but be a believer

Come onto this path with me
Us two holding hands walking

When the path meanders ever so slowly through the valleys and mountains it’s for pleasure, a straight path means business
Walking on this path with you, my lover
When this path widens someone new enters this world, narrower someone leaves this world

But we still walk together whether smiling or sobbing, whether just us two or 3 or four or five
We still go up mountains, down valleys, the ups and downs of life

Where we go exactly I have no such certainty but I known with certainty the end will be on a mountain peak, the sun setting, us awaiting our fate until the full moon comes up.

There he was in that school, an aquarium

There he was singing the blues

Not a fish like the rest but a bird

A bird who couldn’t fly, forced to swim with the fish

Alone on his on isle, marooned by the jet-set

The water so clear, of his tears

Nobody to speak to,

Nobody to share his velvet voice

So he writes in his journal

About his miseries, hopes, dreams, fantasies

But about reality too

He is alone on his bed of sand until

Comes a young maiden, Mary

The two talk on the field

He tells her what would be his final work

About thistles and flowers in the blacksmith’s yard

He continues telling her his story until she cries, holding her head in the ground

He explains that she stained her white dress

She then puts on him a crown of thistles, she calls him true and pure

They continue the short lived romance until a gang of older boys come

They attack him, ripping his journal

Mary tries to help but one of them holds her down

They beat him till his last breath

They leave, she runs for help

She looks frantically, but the cards were dealt, his path on earth is over

Mary runs to him

She cries over his dead body

She begins piecing the journal back, story by story

She brings them to a publisher, a book is born

Misunderstood in life, revered after life

I thought this place of injustice was to become just
A city of equality
Where we would all smile, holding hands
A city where poor and rich would not exist

But alas I was wrong
Here I am shaking
Looking down onto the city
The city is not a court it is a playground
Not trying the injustice to make justice
Letting injustice to rule the playground, the city

They own the city
Richer and corrupter by the day
Walking in black suits up to their condos
Lying nude on Copacabana and Ipanema
But we never get to live that fantasy

We look atop high peaks
Watching the injustice creep like a road slithering into the mountains
Watching it spread like cancer

They, pushing us further and further up the peak
Our shacks razed, condos built
Their voice is of a man, a well-spoken man
But ours is of an introverted child struggling to communicate
But he tries, he writes
He is me, I am him

Writing on paper
About the injustice, about poverty but about hope too
Then comes the moon and I leave my sheet to finish tomorrow

We lose everyday
But we are still fighting
Shoving and pushing our way up,
Up those crystal stairs to a flickering candle

That night

Was the end

It was cold

It was dark

It was miserable

It was over

The end so close to the beginning

The door shutting

The chain breaking

The end under a white cover

Snow pattering

Onto a dead end street

The last few sentences

She looks up into his eyes

But he doesn’t look into hers

He stands there parting his hair

She waits there freezing, no coat to protect her beauty

He stands in comfort, a plush winter jacket

She waits for a while before giving into

She forfeits, her journey on the game of love

She reaches for her pocket

And pulls out something

I look on

While I cannot tell what it is

There is a certain glint on the object

She looks one more time,

But his eyes are focused elsewhere

She walks away

Only for him to understand that he wanted her

He calls out but she continues walking

I see in the distance her hands have met another’s

They swim the blue vastness of the ocean, circling the globe

They are always evolving through generations

But we evolve quicker

Exploiting them

Ingesting them till few are left

Those few are kidnapped

Sentenced to lives in small pools

Never to swim that blue vastness, never to see their family

Stuck here, forced to smile like young children

Abused beyond great measures, forced to take narcotics

Never to have their own, never to show them the world

Living a life, happy to all, melancholy to them

Nobody can tell, forced to take pills to smile, to keep the turnstiles rolling

But soon there marketability escapes them

One night their keepers enter to give them a magic pill

They can once again swim the great blue seas

The white of the room, the sunlight through the window

 His frail blue collared body saved, saved by the hands of a black suited man from the hands of novelty, the hands of technology 

His family took the tram across the city to see him

The iron in the machine caused pain

The iron in his blood, in his heart, his desire to live

But his boss lacked iron, iron hands, his hands were soft

He helped the struggling man into the red cross, to let him see light again

The family took the tram from the blue collar to the homes of the black suits

To see him

Badly hurt, greatly weakened but the iron inside of his heart would not melt

Not to give into human pain and peril

Lying in those white sheets for weeks, but the iron is still in his blood, in his heart

Every minute he fights to survive, fighting for a life, fighting for hope

The iron that runs through his veins, the strength in him

Weeks later his eyes open to see the bright sun light on the windowsill

To hear the laughs of his child, to hug her, his love, to smile gain, to laugh again, to love again

Paris, a young lady, her pulchritude:

Golden hair, smooth skin and rouge

Her heart, the white circular domes of Montmartre like Halos

From the bath of Holy water to

The white veil amid a dulcet of bells rung

To the black crepe and the final prayers sung

Her brain the Quartier Latin,

The Hola of Spanish, the Hallo of German, the Hello of English

The move of the tassel and the reading of the Latin diploma

And then she reminisces

The time she used her hands for evil

The red of her hands, the black of her coat

The vingtième arrondissement, a lurid place filled once with men with white coats

And children, who knew their mother

Then comes spring, and she takes a whiff of the fresh air

The pungent aroma of flowers in a myriad of colours:

The ruby red of the tulips,

Along with the royal purple of the violets,

And the golden yellow of the daisies

The Jardin du Luxembourg in late spring

The smell of rejuvenation like a violet bud opening towards the sun

And then L’Opéra

The harmony of the trumpets

Contrasted with the high, refined voice of the soprano

The music of life, the music of death and then the music of love

The new lovers hand in hand, fingers intertwined as tree roots

And then they walk in separate paths as if it was just a show

Then the sunsets; the sky as an artist’s palette

The ravishing red, the beautiful blue above only the radiating sun

Her eyes glittering, La tour Eiffel

And then as I walk out of the tunnel I see the twinkle in her eyes

And as the full moon rises I vow to return.