The ballad of the lonely poet
Anywhere out of the world,
An artificial reality offers a sens of esthetics,

Only a human soul could reach,
Through the essence of love.


The Crushing beauty,
Of what shall always be considered,
The queen of its kind,

Only the mannered esthetics,
Man Crafted can be fully admired.


The loneliness of my soul is but a detail,
For this troubled unequaled mind can find no match,
In any streets of Paris or Brussels,

My search for pleasure is constant



Of what shall always be considered,
The queen of its kind,
Only the mannered esthetics,

Man Crafted can be fully admired.

Of love, my friend, the quest is uncertain,

To find a soul mate is to accomplish ones desire,
To find oneself in another,
To contemplate it through the eyes.


Such finding my friend,
To illustrate the feat of its beauty,

No song, no poem can match that absolute.