A coffee mug

Mug Of Coffee
Mug Of Coffee

A coffee mug that stands still,

And makes me move my quill,

I am a writer who drinks a cup of coffee every day,

Like many writers do nowadays.

 

The step forward,

The step to the dream,

The step toward nothing that demands little to no scream,

Patience is all I need,

Therefore I have time and it will make me succeed.

 

A coffee mug,

A coffee mug,

I want to know how you are made,

The coffee beans from different parts of the wide world,

A mug that been crafted from China probably in China

That combination is pure gold,

It makes my day, pass along.

 

The pledge of truth,

To little moment,

The pledge of trust,

To second coming,

I still love my coffee and morning hour,

Even before I leave the tower.

 

And anyhow you stand on here,

Waiting for a place for you to be made,

Where you could sit and share a moment with me,

A writer with a coffee but inside a writer grizzly.

 

I’ll make you a coffee too,

Why not? I won’t ask you.

I will stand up and go to the kitchen,

Approach the pot and make the water boil,

I’ll grab a teaspoon and mix wonderful flakes of Jacobs

With white sugar or brown if you like,

It is a sincere mixture of pleasure and delight.

 

Now that you know,

The simple way to happy moment,

All you got to do is stand up, and boil water,

Grab a paper and a pen while it’s getting hot,

And write a number of words that make you feel good,

In the end, it doesn’t matter if you get misunderstood,

The paper will always accept your state of mind,

You are the only one, one of a kind.

So let it be and grab a mug of coffee!

Fraction of a fraction

Fraction of a fraction
Fraction of a fraction

I stand here still and wonder,

Of a time I took a quill and my hand, stand still,

To make a dot in time,

To make the passage rhyme.

 

And every time I think of you

You are somewhere where no one knew,

You would be and make it true.

 

The loneliness of my knights keeps me away from different sights,

I only wander through the past and find pillars there are no fallen,

And I a bug upon this earth that wanders,

But is not yet swollen.

 

So many things to say,

To convey on white pixel paper.

So many hidden meanings in this play

Of rapid typing and as rapid thinking,

It’s only a fraction of a fraction,

That matters now.

I’m the poet the behemoth of feelings

Who shedding them into this post,

And only time will turn me into a ghost.

 

Every time someone wanders along the riff

In Tenerife, I splendidly surrender to their drift,

Cause I hadn’t left, with no surprise

With charming melody covering my eyes.

 

Now that I know,

That all is lost,

That end is near,

I do not succumb to nonsense fear.

I stroll in quite pace towards the grace of death itself,

I know I was not a Lord, a nobleman or even worthy

To hear out you confess,

But there is one thing I know for sure,

It is the truth of those who yet remain pure.

I know it’s so,

I know it is.

I know it with the go,

I know it with the breeze.

 

The red sea wants to devour my flesh,

But in return, I throw little shallots of a stone,

Into its depth.

Such is the life,

Such is the fraction of a fraction

Of my disguise.

Goodbye!

Now I depart.

Without knowing ‘why’

Or ‘why’ I even had to start.

 

 

Chat with Eve

Chat with Eve
Chat with Eve

Chat with Eve.

When I find myself a girl named Eve,

What would I chat with her about?

I really don’t know…

Maybe Biblical stuff?

Adam and Eve, kind of stuff?

I don’t know.

All I really wish is to squeeze the girl and make her squeak.

But it is considered brutal, and not too humane, not too modern,

Against the law.

 

Chat with Eve.

My true nature is outlaw I guess,

A bastard who want to play checkers, not chess.

I want women for their flesh,

As they want me for the cash…

Absurd, don’t you find?

We are both brutal in that sense of mind.

 

But society keeps talking about love.

What is it really? If not acceptance of wildling in your boyfriend or girlfriend,

Within the limits of Gov.

I know.

You know it too.

We are both vandals and brutes, but they won’t show it,

As they show gentleman and ladies of the Victorian age.

I don’t understand really when I try to be nice they see it as weakness,

When I am precise they see it as dullness and savage act of demise.

Am I an elephant or am I a mouse?

I don’t want to talk you into that doubt.

Try and balance the extravagant gent with almighty vandal you care in that hat.

Or chat with Eve.

Chat with Eve.

After all, there is nothing objective between all those who try to thrive.

Every time I think of her, the vandal in me takes as a vandal should, that is for sure.

When I’m laying on a beach and think of myself as of a civilized man who can ignore

Half naked women running around the shore,

I turn into a loser, who is too weak to feel the grasp of nature

That made us the way it did, and what should do is breed. Breed!

Event the bible inquires that. But we are savages dressed in tuxedos driving in limos,

Who aren’t afraid of the threat that rather afraid of multiplicational debt!

 

 

 

 

Broken Angel

Broken Angel
Broken Angel

Every time I struggle alone,

Every time I am the war of my own,

I want to fly high and away, to heaven,

A place I could call home.

 

But the truth is not every broken angel

Got the guts, got the spine,

We are rather torn,

We can not fight it all completely alone.

 

The world is a huge place.

Merit is scarce, so is the gain,

We only live through loss and pain.

I want to tell you a story of a broken angel,

Broken angel, is one who falls from the sky,

But yet tries to fly.

In that attempt not to turn human and die,

Broken Angel, grasps for the last straw of divine power

That is long ago gone.

 

Beware of the things they tell you about broken angels

They are only lonely because of heavenly adventure,

Remember Michael? Or Gabriel?

They were the most known

Even remarked in the house from over the hill.

 

Now we don’t know what happened to them,

But millennia passed and we haven’t heard

About news or wars that were, as mighty as events

Of the biblical past.

 

Now the broken angel is aghast walking among the humans,

And recalling his own past.

 

Outline

Buddha
Buddha

The eventuality of things make us outline dreams,

We call them galls right then,

When we are able to see a finish line,

An opera to be.

 

No certainty in our lives,

But endless streams of feels and lies,

We are abrupt and pleasant,

At the very same time.

Let’s make it all as simple as we can,

Let’s tame the demon in our mind.

 

I see you are betraying your true self,

When you believe in lies and shallow self,

People are trying to rip off your heart,

Your mind,

You shouldn’t let them do so,

You should rather stay strong, stay bold.

There is no other like your self,

And only who will be there when you will die,

Is the man you call him ‘self’.

 

Not even wide, husband or mother,

Should be those who guide you to the other side,

To life past death,

No other man will touch you and make the dream disappear,

Only you and you alone can uncover the truth and make your true nature,

A part of a world that universe dreamt up.

 

But be aware, it’s the only essence of the time and gesture of the noble,

To sum up our existence and let the merits fall into their places, to make it right,

To make it just and never screw up.

Such is mine outline.

Shaking the time and space

Time and Space
Time and Space

Shaking the time and space continuum

We fight over grace and virile face

Over faith is mediocre but not so the race,

That is taking place.

 

We struggle and fight with mistresses

And masters of old,

We search for the demise of the odd.

 

We want to know better

The walk of the life,

The walk of the present

That endless strife.

 

Some people intend,

To be just like you,

Cool and shallow with nothing to do.

But I prefer deeper wisdom,

I prefer to let it all go,

Afterall diminishing business is to care for someone

Or not care at all.

 

Life is much more than a sentence,

Much more than a punishment,

Or an entrapment,

Life is a dessert in a desert full of thorns,

And dingos running unpleasant

Searching for flesh and bones.

 

I was once fighting space and time

Now I’m writing and it is my only crime.

 

Some people are tense,

Some love romance,

Some other weird,

Some wear a shaggy beard,

But I have a pen with blue ink,

To write my musings away,

In such way, I cipher my soul into paper,

And let it away.

 

No mercy no malice,

No mercy no malice,

I all I wanted to say.

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