Peccavi

Rain is the only thing that makes me feel alive
I long to feel the beads of water crawling down my face
The dusty fresh air caressing my hair
As I close my eyes and dream…
The drops of rain scare people away
They feel the need to hide
People have locked themselves in a thorn made box
with their tiny cups of coffee;
old ,worn out conversations
make time elapse faster.
They’re talking and yet only the voice of silence echoes
...they live their lives wondering what if,
…they play with empty, shallow words.
Hiding their heads under a web of lies and regrets,
...forgetting the little things that keep them alive
forgetting who they are.
REALITY is just as intangible as love
as unattainable as the farthest star in the winter sky;
reality is what we want it to be, reality is RELATIVE.
We shackle ourselves with steel made chains,
we draw the curtain, become cold and indifferent;
become dust in the wind.
We live in stand by,
we are merely observers;
paraître a l’étre, lying to ourselves,
picking out a mask to wear at all time, never even caring
that this may be the time,
to break free, to embrace liberty.
At times we’re terrified,
for the crystal box we live in
it’s slowly beginning to break;
it’s a war of the heart over the mind
of passion and indifference,
of love and hate,
of dungeons and inner demons we’re trying to escape from.
Rain is the only thing that makes me feel alive
I long to feel the beads of water crawling down my face;
but my senses are numb, my soul is imprisoned,
plunged in regret, submerged in superficiality
I only hope for my soul to lead me back to the times
When I used to FEEL.