Midlife crisis.



Where is the bed we could lie down on?
Where is the safe place of intelligence between words and acts?
Between words and thoughts?
Words and bodies ?
  Where is the sensation some same language could be spoken?
At least once in a while
Understanding is a hard task isn't it?
Where is the sensation we could get closer, the sensation we tried to?

Was it a dream?
Whose dream was it?
Was it only the same old dream of completeness
The dream of everybody's dream, the global dream red in cheap books?
Not a dream, to me, let's be demanding, not a dream
A job, a passionate job, a real passionating job
With skills and knowledges to improve
Like the pilgrims of humility courageously walking towards their own unknown
Walking through the thorns and the empty rooms of all-mighty will

Where are all these hours of work?
Where is the reality they should have carried?
Where is the skin we touched?
Was it lying too?
Staying up in the middle of past frustrations
Was everything lying in the great chorus of humans lonely shallowness?
Was it so unimportant?
Now in the real mud of the most common case of a midlife crisis affair?