In the idiosyncrasy of utopia

During life there was a search
For love, for creation, for care
At the end, i search for myself,
But no longer was i there
Silly of me to fight
In the same ground
Where trees don't sleep
The whisper
The whistle
Asking for creativity
The freedom of the voices
For too many times
Sounded like a burden
Only when the train leaves
You can write about the stop signs
My mistake,
One of many
I always tought
Happiness can't be writen
Just enjoy before the next storm
Sadness is a big cup
Of sorrow and bad grapes
The cheer is a donwfall
And a men is just a middle child
Forgotten in the pictures of the hall
The glass is broken
The stairs have vicious intentions
In each step there is bribe
There is no taxes in the payment
But a soul must be cut
And two shall hang side to side
This is a happy poem
About the discovery of the dark
Embrace as a ocean
Drown as the moon
Breath the waves
Shatter the Tie(d)
Blossom of bliss.