The sin of innocence

Do not lose heart, Forget no hope.
The moment you forget that you will be undone.

Keep walking, breath a little more.
Do not lose heart. It is not over yet.

The words to say within this realm are few.
The wish is now but a childish dream.
And the future looks dark you may not wanna go back.

And there is no moonlight left within this night.
Do not lose heart, that is the only thing I keep saying.
Hoping to make it truth just saying it.

Such a long path, I have laid down of my feet.
And such things I do not wanna do anymore.
I feel old like never before today.
The cold of the winter aching my bones
And my heart beating so slow.

February...of good memories february
Of writing and writing.
And finding
And learning
And now I do not know what to do with it.

I am losing hope a day before I need it.
I am losing heart no matter how hard I try not to.

What are the odds? Of wanting to go back and back again.
It is not like trying to climb that train or to jump that underground lair.

Keep in mind those repercutions of your deliverations and solutions.
For one day the unthoughtful choice will claim the cash of time.

Are they really difficult? Am I really slow? Why did I ranaway in the first place?

And now those decitions are haunting my path. But even worse that decition to study not what one wants but what one needs.
Such is the sin of innocence. Such is my circle of hell.

Hell is not a place below the earth and sea, but the construction of everyday's action. And the life that just the day before yesterday looked so fine, now comes back to it's place in the dark.

Is there anylight in hell...there is. But that will not vanish these time away.
Oh within the crime the punish waits.
Such is the order within the chaos.

And for this once to understand does not means to accept.
There is no live in the void only death.

The battle

Una nube de polvo se levanto rodeando la embestida de la caballeria, era dificil ver donde estaban las puntas de las lanzas, pero del mismo modo los caballeros hallaban dificil encontrar blancos delicados.

Un caos reinaba en aquella verde pradera manchada de rojo.

Los gritos lejanos, las suplicas, el llanto. Apenas había tiempo para ellos. Solo había tiempo para los borrosos contornos dentro de la nube de polvo.

Las javalinas empezaron a zurcar el viento, el agudo sonido de su vuelo se veía casi siempre eclipsado por el duro choque contra el metal o la carne. El grito de un hombre, el llanto de un corcel y en ocasiones el duro golpe de un bulto contra el piso.

Espadas firmes en las manos de la infanteria, pero mas firmes aun los escudos protegiendo escasamente el cuerpo de los guerreros.

Y la caballeria aun avanzaba en medio de la nube de polvo muerte.

Alguno entre la primera fila se atrevío a mirar hacia atras buscando los arqueros que podían librar de aquel predicamento, pero no vio a los arqueros, solo polvo.

Pronto un sentimiento empezo a colarse en los petos de todo el escuadrón. La muerte era mejor que los segundos de vida en incertidumbre. Y si no la muerte entonces la gloria.

Pronto avanzaron corriendo hacia aquel tornado de suciedad, caballos y metal torcido.

Algunos con mas entereza, otros intentando flanquear para provocar mayor eficacia en su ataque.

Desde el lomo de los enormes corceles apenas y se notaban las sombras acercandose, dando vuelta, era tarde para desbandar la carga de caballeria.

Y entonces el metal choco contra la carne, contra el metal, contra el cuero y la tierra. El polvo se agito para luego empezar a descender.

Los cuerpos cayeron, pesados bultos de poco uso. Las armas se desquebrajaron, las espadas silbaron orgullosas antes de hacerse añicos, y las lanzas chillaron al quebrarse de las puntas.

Algunos jinetes bravos saltaron hacia el enemigo con dagas.

Algunos perecieron bajo el peso de sus corceles.

No falto la espada que corto una mano amiga.

Y cuando hubo terminado, el llanto y los gritos quedaron en el viento mientras el polvo bajo de nuevo a reposar ensangrentado.

The path one does not wishes to walk

There is I wonder if in everyone...Do not really know.
But there is in many I know and in me I can see that clearly.

How to take the path that so much I dislike and keep going and keep going
Just take it all when writing here kinna goes against using my time in the most correct way.

But that is why this goes cut ASAP and nI go down and out soon as well for now.

En las Alas de un Angel

Es indudable que alguno de los fantasmas que por este lugar concurran podría bajo determinada circunstancia determinar el porque del titulo; vago recuerdo de una infancia prolongada y perdida entre el gris de los ayeres sucesivos.

Pero lo cierto es que si la infancia se fue es porque los finales felices se torcieron y la noción de armonia supuesta a la semana queda de algun modo marchita.

No estoy contando una verdad que no salte a la luz de los que miran, y en tal medida no es mas que trabajo viejo y absurdo.

El momento de la esperanza existe, pero el segundo siguiente devuelve una realidad nebulosa.

Primero la hermandad calida en la fría noche y después el cuerpo tirado privado de los sentidos por el frío.

La conciencia de que habra mas que pocos habitando en penumbras solitarias proximos al fin de su vida en esta fría semana.

Es el precio que aceptamos pagar, sin siquiera el nivel de Omelas alcanzar.

En las alas de un angel viene la discordia, incapaz de desvanecerse aun en este momento, el olvido y el recuerdo ambos con oscuro perfil para mirar.

Miro el empaque y pienso que quiza el modo Worthington para la navidad sea el mas conveniente, la única opción.

This Ending.

I do not know if it was because of the happyness.
And my own undeserved happyness
Or rather that feeling of uncompleted quest
That keeps rounding in my mind.
The moment I do walk away
And the image of explicit sex.
It comes and mixes up
With the very first smile of a guy no longer around.
The ending of this tale, but I am still on it.

And now the sounds make no sense
And the lights are out.
When the play is over
Still I am above the stage

And I am looking for the sun that is not there
And taking the guilt of being myself

Is it that hard to describe?
Or the hard part is to understand?

I did not see the whole of five years coming in front of my eyes slowly
Even when the cues did appeared.
And the guy of my old 2nd semester class in 4th sometimes friendly and sometimes unknown
The first teacher that ever made sense of something to me (in 5th)
The friends I made in 6th.
The place that stood for 7th in the middle of imperial sounds
And the great group I never ever belonged to of 8th
But even when all of these things in front of my eyes I did not see all of that.
I saw but the very day, that very afternoon unfolding.

Found someone who disliked the party, a memory of what I used to say
And felt myself lost and broken in the middle or near to it.

If the question is who am I now?
In this moment when I am one of the few performers left.
Or the feeling is that I am not the Jedi that I should be.

I let go of the old, to try to embrace something different.
In that very way I deflected my village.

This ending is not my ending, and I think this is the happy Good ending.
I took the actions to prevent this good ending in my game.

Which is my ending? When and where?
It needs to be soon, but I rather...
I do not do enough things to force it.

Who am I now?
You cannot touch cause I proably bring you down.

But actually the only one I've brought down is myself.
That is.

This ending is not yet my ending, and for a happy ending I would need to restart the whole level somewhere else.

One Year Later

So a year passed, and it passed not without events, and not without news, for weakness apeeared and showed and sadness and melancholy all short of confussion why not, yet that is not what remains...

A year passed first by the massive event followed by the empty streets out of the cinema in a very first date that was actually second if the day before counted somehow. The truths and the evenings came and dissapeared inthrough memories.

And a video was done the secret untold. then somehow the pirate went rogue, and we made love. A Christmas parole in the way of parfum, the dinner and the cousin happened, and the year of the syncrony ended well and better than well with no regret as of the sadness habitant of the before...

So something else begun, and indeed a tired enviroment won, a crazy proffessor after another crazy proffessor and a burguer with class for the birthday and horror for valentine eve. A little after with a lovely skirt she dressed and I dissapeared at night and that same night I found of true fear with inneptitude around I traveled without sleep to try to fix a problem of my own past perception, and sadness and dreams the soft warm of her lips, the kindness of her bed and she was watching me sleep in peace once again and we walked to the gay who directed them all, and the lights then went off with a lovely wickedness thrusted upon them.

And in the seventh month the casuality met us in the train and we wnt to the school in vain and I played with her gift the whole late. Then the death came finally and she saw like curiously hipnotized the corpse of that man who always wanted me to sing, and I had no records of him full of despair for that fact. I met the whole family such a strange situation it was...

The travel developed while short quite revealing, and she slept for she likes to the whole road to...

Giedi Prime, and doubts of what is correct and what is not, and runnings to met her...

And so my hell came to my purge and she is still here while I try to finish this trip so weird so up and so down, this trip in which i met her So long ago, 3 years ago, and in which I talked to her so long ago, 2 years ago, in which I met her and respected her so long ago a year and a month before and in which i talked with her and start to go out with her like a year ago...

And one year later, I remember this and more and so much more that tell I shall not, the idea persist not to let this whole year to be the only memories of us.

A grayer gray

Llueve, un par de gotas, luego otras, la mañana es triste, todo permanece en ese silencio que no acaba de ser mudo por las mañanas cuando todos duermen. Tarea no vista, elemento no confirmado, basura otra vez he fallado!

Me es tan facil pero fallar es todo menos bueno.

Basura otra vez me siento algo acorralado.

Frivolidad, no soporto ya, mientras que me entiendo en ese sistema.

Soledad, monotonia de sabado, Tres escritos, mas este, uno debe ser reescrito.

Extrañar, lo siento, tambien me extraño a mi mismo, siento que tengo demasiado tiempo, pocas ganas, poco tiempo muchas actividades, puente, versiones de unos y otros, artificios creados, no puedo correr, me encierra una jaula invisible, temo que me quite los animos.

No perciben este descontento, este extraño despertar, en que el mas tierno aprecio de hace tiempo se ha vuelto algo extraño entre lo conmiserado y la iracunda reacción a una ceguera, a un camino de destrucción quiza no propia pero si de otros.

En tal caso no puedo creer en mi, porque me se constante a fallar, no puedo confiar en el Orden porque no se como permite semejante arrebato.

No puedo dejar caer, toda mi esperanza en una sola persona, porque es una carga a un ambiente que tiene ya lleno de cargas.

No quiero ser una carga, pero me siento para mi mismo incluso.

El purgatorio se me figura eterno.