The Violent Spirit.

The masquerade was melting 
It was April, the sun was
Moving at it's highest angle,
It was a water fall
Suspended and jagged 
In some kind of
Performance arts.

The gravity was thawing 
The snow, that stayed away
From all that was for some
Time now, eternal,
Silence was breaking up,
It would never touch it's 
Environment with serenity anymore,
It would be violent,
Explosive, as if some god
Would be stripping it's 
Masquerade and making
It a lover of such potentiality
That in it's violence
It would
Shape the life on this earth.

More and more
It would transcend, in
Delight it would be
Within and with-out, and would not evade
Bonds, freedom would be in itself
In it's activity
In it's violence
The life in the midst of this fearlessness
The seed would sprout
And take a new form.

To realize freedom through violence
Is the beauty of all souls.