Fly away

At the bottom of wood, or perhaps elsewhere, it was once. An open door on the unknown of your dreams. Enter, to listen to beat the wind on the strike. Trees balancing itself under the breath of your dreams. The alleviated waves of your lies sleep. Be occupied on wet sand, the barefeet. The hair gotten mixed up until the nodes of your moult. Eyes misted to be itself found. With nothing to wait. If it is not the wind gently alleviating. Of a resting dream. Give up your devils of the morning. Badgering your daily newspaper. The face deformed by the smile of too much knowing to lie. Skilfully masking your desire for fleeing, for betraying. The image smoothes your made up life of trouble. Further that the sleep of your dreams sleeps. Passions awake which your life drains like a sponge. To have been too much used to erase the tears of your dramas. Find in the unknown of your dreams the source to surprise you. There is only the attention to tend. To go, until the end of silence, to take. The movement developing chime of your rebirth. Dancing on the agreements of the blacks and white of a partition. Run up against the sky, knocks the ground, repeats your passion on the web. Borrows your words. In the slow movement of your revival. Go the barefeet at the edge of water. Drawing the transitory print. Of your steps erased by the sea. At the bottom of wood, or perhaps elsewhere, it was once. An open door on the unknown of your dreams. That it will be enough for you to push when you sign the truce. With these bonds which you manufactured for better blocking yourself. Finding in artificial the poison of your sky. Where any more stars do not shine. Except the night when the dreams weave the veil. Recovering the walls of your prison. Illuminant lights of this open door on the unknown of your dreams. Enter, to listen to beat the wind on the strike. For once. Fly away.