The Blank Page

A novel’s first words,

a long-lasting research.

Vibrations in the thick, humid air.
A voice rises up, white and floating, in the artificial light,
while the blue bar takes with itself these irreplaceable moments.
A guitar chord, G major,
a gospel choir, looking for a spirituality that doesn’t exists,
while observing the darkness in the abyss, where I will fall, never ending.
Friends that come and go, like shadows blinded by summer,
empty words with no meaning,
dead souls’ stunned faces.
Sand under my shoes, the artist’s delirium.
An agitation without ending,
the trembling feeling watching the blank page.

Long-distance relationships,
beauty comes from across the screen,
without touching, day after day.
A spar, a prison with a window in the corner.
You and me.
The perfect circle, torn apart by life, by snow,
the street that goes on pitiless till the end of times,
society that destroys itself,
humans, that repeat their mistakes once again, the terror, blood.
Stab him! Stab him and bathe your hands in his blood!
Do it!
He loves you more than ever, he’ll die for you, he wants to do it.
Drown him. Tie him up and drown him alive, choke your feeling.
The perfect day, dreams enclosed in a moment,
seconds that won’t never return,
time’s inevitability, existence’s shortness.
I’m already in the coffin waiting for the judgement,
the shadow of the End looms over.
A breath.

Prickly people, do you get enraged for a missed celebration?
In the meantime all the rest burns out! And you attack, you like to be mean, you like to be bitter.
To suffer like this for the artifice of human life, for the artifice of immortality.
Run, run, explode, connect yourself, quick! Fast!
FAST!
Elegy of slowness.
Elegy of solitude.
Elegy of the blue of sky, of starlight, pieces of infinite that drill the dark veil,
the fire cracking in the dead of the night.
Elegy of madness. Elegy of freakiness! Be freak! What’s the meaning to normality?
I will always be a shadow, a resenting soul.
I will always look for a security that doesn’t belong to me, I will lose myself in the dreams of a life.
Bomb me with your words!
Save me with a cuddle.
I observe the kindness of the injustice,
the malice laughter on the faces of people don’t understand its valor,
human nature turning against itself,
the artificial system, the ice age.
A gigantic wave in the nordic sea.
The love that remains, that make mountains crumble down,
without love, without life, cities that worship flesh,
cathedrals made of rotten human corpses, ants that exult in their stink
Dream, a majestic dream,
the path that leads to light, through the trees.
The delicate touch of your hand,
you, your face surrounded by the Sun,
me, delighted by the beauty of your Being,
I finally know that my sentiment is legitimated.
Here, at the end of all things, I know that I can love like everyone else,
even if you cried on my shoulder, even if my loving makes sad,
even if the peak becomes steep,
holding the hand of the Star I know that there’s no gender for this feeling.
Lay with me on the humid ground, let’s get dirty before the ending of the day,
kiss me while you cry tears of joy,
while we own something that the Others won’t never understand.
“I exist”. I’ve fought for this.
Canada, Germany, Holland, Iceland, Sweden, a midsummer night’s dream,
the people I love.
A flight over hopes that crush against life’s glass wall.
The cry of who doesn’t have anything,
the empty bowl of the boy that begs me for a coin, me, turning and walking by,
system’s artificial perfection, swallowing us in its fiction,
your will to trap happiness, nature’s purity.
I float high, towards the enormous blue sky, towards the cosmos, the absence of gravity,
don’t you want to slow down for a while? Understanding our reality, what’s the meaning in shooting against me, jail me, cry on me, throw out your repulsion, cry, take back, rape, kill, hit with stones, choke, squeeze?
Above me, Past Myth’s weight remains, words that won’t ever get old,
dreamers, wonderful crazy people!
Being isolated isn’t easy, no one understands the obsession about that freedom that everyone is certain to have.
They sell their souls, dead hearts given up to immortality, shot through a tunnel that seems without an exit.
I wait patiently for the day when I’ll be able to smile,
when I’ll be able to stop folding paper, to count to five, to listen to your threats, to face the Demon that dwells in my head.
Higher, between the evening lights, glacier’s glare, twilight’s red shade. Higher, in the deadly silence of the clouds, I become poorer and smaller, hiding in nimbus’ basalt,
observing Gaya’s tendons stretch amid sky’s carousel,
hugging your profile, wishing to touch you once again,
melting in a freedom that the others, locked on the ground, can’t even imagine.

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Informazioni su erikberti

It's frankly hard to describe myself in this little space, but I'll try to do my best: I'm 29, graduated in fashion and design. I love to write tales and novels and to study languages... I love words, their meaning, their importance, the deepest emotions that they can create when they are close to each other, the stories one can tell with words. Yes, stories. I'm obsessed by the infinite number of stories that can be told. This is my personal diary, I will post poetries, writings and streams of consciousness, that will be probably gathered together in a collection. Thank you for following my dream!

Pubblicato il 14/06/2014, in Free Flow, Poetry con tag , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Aggiungi il permalink ai segnalibri. 1 Commento.

  1. Hi there, erikberti. Thank you for visiting and following HoB. Much appreciated!

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