The evidence is clear.
On the concrete pavement
the earthworms die.

Conclusion is clear.
Concrete is death
earth is life.

We make veins of death all over the mother,
so our shoes won't get dirty,
so we can move faster,
towards the illusion
that we can actually save time.

As I walk the concrete path
in the footsteps of the workers
white, blue, professional collar
I see concrete castles towering all around me.
I live in one with 100s of others.
I have looked for signs of happiness.

What is the meaning of all these people
to follow a time plan that doesn't fit anyone?
It's just convenient for the machine
that makes the castles
and so called stability.

What stability?

So why do they do it?
Why do they work like slaves
for yet another payment plan?

Oh I have tried to break from this routine
but surviving is not the same today as it used to be.

The machine is sneaky,
it feeds our children with propaganda
fed by the institutes we put them in,
the day they are born.

It is back to the basics of
shelter, food and cloths.
It is rare that children find role models
in their parents.
It is the stars from the hills of Hollywood.
Brand shoes and
a room filled with toys.
But no share of the time
their parents strive so hard to save.

And time slips,
between fingers like
grains of sand.

And still they work so hard
to save time.

To save,

...but they only lose,
lose the cord,
to themselves,
to earth,
to the children of earth.

And I can't find happiness
within the concrete castles.

So I throw away all my possessions.
Burn them in a ritual
of cleansing.
And I run so much lighter,
into a time where I never need to save,
because time flows with my own inner clock.
Not the one that tick tocks inside Big Ben.

Mine doesn't even have tick tock.

About the Book

About the Author

The Poems

-Wake Up





-Bone day

-The Pandoras Box

-The Ugly Duckling

-Children of the Stars

The Artwork

-Children of the Stars