thor

they came to me, asked my name.
i said then wait, let's play a game.
everyone got quite intrigued,
i wondered if any believed.
the rules are plain, straight and simple,
this is somehow a fuzzy, big riddle.
"would you give us the puzzle already?
we are waiting still and steady!"
i could only stall so much,
then i remembered the story of the dutch.
he was ten feet tall, named thor,
people often wondered if he'd fit the door.
had a big brown axe he used to cut wood
and a kind of language no one understood.
a heart that's been faithful, true and kind,
but impure thoughts are all over his mind.
"so tell us how he ever came to be!"
i said "sit back, relax and you'll see."
when thor was a baby, a long time ago,
his mother would put on a very special show,
his father would lift him up really high
and baby would joyfully move the clouds in the sky.
for he is the guardian of the bluest light,
to face death on the rightest fight.
"is he the warm touch of the mighty sun?"
"let me finish already, shut up everyone!"
if you've ever been wronged, don't hesitate to say
"oh brave thor, wouldn't you painfully make them pay?"
if you are good, he will hastily oblige
and present you with a most startling mirage.
for even if it was all in your head,
all your biggest fears are now but dead.
so if you ever feel down, sad and blue
just call his name and he'll be there for you.
they went home with wonder in their eyes
and i rested alone without names and goodbyes.

again, again and again

why must hearts be fragile?
when love should always be tender,
for you, i was bound to surrender,
but you cast me into exile.

the little pieces of happiness

it's the small things that we take for granted every morning we get out of bed, that were always there and we just assume always will be. the kind of things that can go through an entire lifetime unchanged, in some cases untouched, but they are there and they make you smile, even if only inside your heart. a photograph by the bed, a painting on the wall, a vase over the coffee table, the junk mail by the fridge, the banana peel she left on the sink, her underwear all over the sheets, the bathtub filled with foam and soap and the hairdryer next to the half eaten toast. it's the raindrops over your head, hearing the song you like on the radio, trying a new taste for the first time, playing in the snow, making fun of other people's hair and clothes while trying to figure out what they are saying to each other. it's the little pieces of joy we glue together in time that gives us that rush to face the new day. some may say we can survive without them and it is the truth, but it's only really that: surviving. great happiness in life does not happen often enough, so we have to rely on the small things. it just so happens that sometimes every little thing you built your daily routine with starts to fail and fade away, while a great happiness is still million of miles away. well, you just hang on to the hope of a better day, an unexpected surprise, a new friend and most of your daily blues will be alright.

why death is greater than life

life is boring, death comes fast enough.

home sweet home

home is where your heart feels unrest, it longs to be free and run away.

silhouette

i go crazy by your silhouette,
though we have never actually met.
not the prettiest girl in town,
but she makes the show go down.
those kinky reddish meaty lips,
shall we kiss and see if it fits?
when she walks by in her heels,
like a smoothing melody it feels.
i hunger to hold you by the hips
while my reason away gently slips.
i contort my every bone to hold myself,
she's a lusty book luring from the shelf.
when you pose in the balcony,
another man takes over me.
to her i desire my stories translated,
before the whole love becomes outdated.
but it's your silhouette that i crave,
the raging poison that makes me brave.
if you ever hear a word i said,
come to me before i'm dead.