Poem of the week

I am not afraid of the dark
'cause I've never known else
everything just for the spark
of hope, that seems hopeless

Poem of the week

An old man in old shoes is walking through my mind
I can hear his thoughts and somewhere far in despair
he's willing to end the game of hope
he's willing to tie the one last rope

In the far lands, I can swim on earth
I can hear your eyes and pretending
Doesn't bring your nearer to my truth
and an endless talk, doesn't bring the ending

An old man is sitting on a tree
I can see his thoughts and hear his voice
an old man is sitting on a tree
he's so wise and entirely free

Who is in the mirror
who is my vice
who is my habit
who is the dealer
the talking rabbit

I've got shrooms, I can shrink and grow
and still I am not in neverland
I am still here, my only friend
here in the world, where only an old man
can be truly free and own his own destiny

Thought of the day

Just one last rum, one last beer, one last smoke
and I have no fear, come my dear
enjoy the vice
have a slice
of a friday sin
 you can't lose, only win.