joi, 30 decembrie 2010

"Ce n'est pas la réalité, c'est un rêve."

"The love we had,
The love we had,
We had to let it go..." 

What's love
but a sharp knife that runs through one's
like it were a wounded animal's

What's love
but a piercing wind that pounces upon
your eyes
with the mischevious intention of
corrupting the mind?

What's love
but an ivory ghost that wanders in the present,
with rags of bloody past and craving a better

What's love
but a lie concocted by our own lips
 to make some order
in this blue chaos
we call "bliss"?

What's love
but a song for the deaf,
a movie made by the blind,
a poem for the speechless
and the legacy
of mankind?

What's love
but the sweetest of sins,
the most perfect dream,
the Universe compressed 
into a heartbeat?

What's love
but our reason to live?

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