My Writen Painted felt Authobiography ;)

A reason

So much pain so hard to explain
down here in the rain pretending He is vain
Where should He go what should he do…no matter what happens he still thinks of you.
Somewhere in the dessert where plants tend to die, he handles a flower, pretending to fly.

Faraway lands expecting arrivals of wisdom and canvas ready to be re-designed

This emptiness feels like a summer debris refusing to be , eternal bliss
what is to die, but to be only naked in our mind, not speaking aloud our truth to survive.
If only he could leave this space of hollowness fulfilling the gap with love and with trust, believing he must fly and shine like a star in the middle of the sky somewhere up high.
In love he is destroyed In love he is delighted no roof and no ground to feel this alive
As blessed as intrigued with sorrow and bliss
believing exists this heaven in his list.
The maze has no end but trouble and pain
Why should he stay when the rain is on its way
Why should he pray, when he only has today
as tomorrow is blossoming and yesterday is dead.

gg

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