Today's collection of poems

Just another episode

At the peak of the bliss.

There is something that i miss.

Not the why but the who.

As i live alone in a room.

Non voluntary solitude.

There is no tune,

that clears me from the dune,

which masks a alone as a lone.

If it is the sleep talking,

or the depression walking,

i really don't know.

But the low's is always lower,

and we can always walk over.

Words and feelings matters more then matter.

And between either solitude or falseness,

i prefer the latter.

As falseness makes relations worthless,

and only madness remains.

As morals dissipates.

As everything they may have made,

while i may not wish the same for them.

Nature the all neutral that fades in the night,

humiliates and humbles all the same, even for them.

No more then limbs

The death of the individual,

is worse then the death of the being.

The being lives on, what he dreams burns in coal.

In the name of burning all wrong-doings,

all those who oppose us shall go into the bonfire.

As i am just a firefighter for the common cause.

My face becomes a propaganda picture,

my pictures become a nickname of all but i.

As what i am doesn't matter in the grand picture,

whom i don't understand but i know that needs my and thy.

So that the dream flies, at the cost of our dreams.

Because, of course, me oh my and thy exists only so we exist.

As the narodniks are our brain and hopes,

and we are the legs and arms, but neither hands nor feet.

So minuscule but so collected, that even the pain is the same.

Oh, so lame we are, that not even anger came;

Only i wished that mama came home,

just to see if she still recognized me.