Will it always be an unfinished symphony?

Looking for a glimpse of light
in the mirror machine.

Hunting my inner demons
to persuade them
to come back to the heart,
my rusty voice
is screaming like familiar dust
inside the lions horn
to let some anxious walls crumble,
my mystical silence
wide as the breeze, too complex
to put in lasting words,
a fashionable sentence that will remain.

The whispers are humming loud
in the wonderful paradox
like my sweet honey bee chanting freely,
the Mothers Garden
is still proud.

The forest is blooming
inside an industrial confusion
an electronic bio chemical maze
wanders through my open space,
I’m trying to take the crossroads
of illusion,
with a fragile tender intention
of bright twisted love,
a perception from underneath
the illumination of the deep above.

Who wants me to believe
that they got the right to ask me to pay
so much rent,
every third week of the month,
chained to a social security number
tattooed in our saluting minds
the purpose,
a victims system
just to bring you on our knees
for the next generation
of corporate men lost in corruption.

I paid my dues and shared the seed,
how about you?


You still can’t buy Love,
(the last value standing straight)

Throwing a purple tomato
though the angel voice of all that jazz,
it will stick against my cleaning window
after I showed my open wounds
in the light of the candle
still burning at both ends
maybe I’m bleeding
much too soon
trying hard not to bend
light attracts dark.

I’m on my knees
preparing a feast
to share
exclusive bread
and sparkling wine,
the wizards made the humble pie
and in simple songs we meet again
like common ones of cosmic measures,
no time for preaching now
you have to go a little deeper,
just be honest about your feelings
and response to the joyful noise
of the drums
the uncountable manifestations of the wise,
in true experience
nobody comes out of here alive,
here and now a possibility in mortal clay
so think about the golden children
and move towards the eternal playing.

You can’t manipulate a universal dance
by selling out a silly brand,
but you can infect your grandchildren’s lungs
if you keep on spitting burning fuel
on the holy motherland.

(“No bomb that ever burst
shatters the crystal spirit,”)
Deep inside

rob became one with the dolphin and the mirrormachine
the instrument is remembering the timeless scale
of the infinite, it really never was divided
from a certain perspective, it is one love 2008-01-13