When the hardest times arrive, there’s a moment for an impossible run.
The sky of a dream, fades in the shattered clouds of your sad eyes.
The death stone of our existence turns in pureness with the teeming expressions of love.
At the shore, when I look into the sky, looking for a memory, the sea shows me the first time I felt fear, the fierce moment of your death in his immensity.
Behold, beyond of nature, the sacred power of our soul, the swords of truth, brandish between day and night, between day and night.
We all, suffer the same.
We are humans dying under the power of fat monsters.
Those souls who can embrace their sword will know the science of the cobra.
The magic of the light.
The miracle of the night.
I’ve never seen a pair of eyes so beautiful that can hide the filthy presence of a demon.
The eyes of a woman always say the truth.
The kid keeps talking over and over, about a giant that eats his favourite Cloud. He cries more, cause he is too young to take seriously that his cloud has been devoured.
We all know a lot of things that are deep, but none of them is more profound than the soul, as the universe beneath our eyes.