soul

A rhythm danced in the mist of a soul,
spilled in the strains of classical melancholy,
slowly groove in a thin crystal.

The soul howl camouflaged by
the man in the mask with his gibberish head,
petrified with the top of his lung.

A scream sewed air with air,
embroidered wind with wind
The scream deafened soul,
as well as men deafened rain.

Somehow, somewhere ...
the rhythm found the way
to the scream on the way.

Let me say this:
indeed, they collided;
debating, denying, disputing.
They shouted the air
loud until there's no loud anymore.

They crawled the days to come.

The trees still looked far far away when
the man dragged his feet to shade then
stretched out on sturdy stems but old,
stared at the lonely hawk passed by
near the man with the lullaby.

Oh... soul, be a lighthouse
stands still, stands still,
don't move, be the light.
Be the way to the sailor of the night

Oh... soul, holds the shriek tight,
relieves the night. In the dark,
Let the man be a shark
in silence.