He reached the slope of lost dreams.Mountains and snow twisting like a veil
around shadows heavy and insisting.He watched the clouds change form,
becoming the echo of his breath.Slope of lost words.Somewhere between heaven and
earth,he stood behind the white quietness and whispered:''Close your eyes,
unreachable sky!Everyone who dies,remembers.To the open sea of infinity let me
fly!''And like that, without shoes, without redemption rolled on the snow. He reached
the white cliff and came back. If he fell, he would reached the top.White convictions
floated on the snow.Only if time was more than a heavy diversion!
Horses of freedom were travelling with him among snowflakes and naked trees of
passion.Their steps were leaving traces like a phantom limb,stating all these passages
which formed the seasons' conscience.The white river was floating with a constant row
like the weapon that has even another bullet inside.''Pull the trigger!Do it!'' His scream
was the only blow.The journey of destiny was interrupted over the icy road.
So he made his own.Returning the time that he borrowed,he changed his Thursday and
left for the unknown.Now he is looking from the top of a white world the glass doors of
others, throwing stones to break them.He reached the abyss of purity, as an Edenic
mortality on hell.He was the Dominant. Nothing left to judge, nothing to condemn.