It often rains, but not tonight.
The silence is filled, it’s quite late.
So many answers that lie dormant.
So many questions awakening.
On the other side of the window, I notice depression.
But in this mythical instant, such a beautiful acceleration
Of thought, mystical intensification
Supposed rewarded without offset.
Arrange in cadence.
Insomnia: full state of agitation. High. Middle of the night.
Then, I meditate on the rest which spread.
A tip, friend, follows the thread.
Shakes the flight of ideas.
In your eye, remove the eyelash.
See this: I’m all powerful here, serene.
I fear that you can’t prevent me from behaving as a martyr.
Those who do nothing always have easy criticism.
You don’t risk to follow my action the nose stuck to your television.
I admire them jubilating on my fertile island.
I begin the ascent with passion.
Are we in a mercantile line?