A face, like from a sculpture,
Long ago in a nearby land ;
An expression that has no suture,
And never fades away like words in a beach sand.

The enchanted beauty with a fiery expression,
The silent kill without any satisfaction.
What should one give to feel this pure ?
In 25 years of a life obscure.

In search of purity, I roamed
And here lies the mother of all serenity.
Passion, anger and the sublime will
To survive, and give the ingnorant Hell.