life's struggle
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by George Gad Economou




man atop the mountain


nothing waits

on the other side,

only yet another long day

of no purpose,

with no goals to achieve,

no accomplishments.

the sun is shining,

there's nothing left

and the blue sky explodes

in a blast of glory,

leaving behind nothing but razed fields.

from the depths of the sea

the monsters come crawling,

slowly, devastatingly

and the laughter echoes across the skies,

traversing cities and continents

filling everyone with despair.


everything is ruined,

nothing but debris

of what once was.

and standing tall,

the lone dark figure

that refuses to die,

somewhere atop a tall mountain

staring and observing,

smiling at the destruction.




a line, (a short blue one)





from faraway

the distant light

tries to break the silence

of the endless night.

a lonesome lighthouse

lost amidst the heavy mist,

trying to brighten up the day

of countless wandering souls

searching for a purpose.




a line, (a short blue one)



last walk through the absent streets


fond memories,

images all around;

each creating a story,

each apartment

another steamy night,

meant to be forgotten

into the oblivion of numbers.


as it's all about to be left behind,


joy, for abandoning the old and rotten,

yet fear, too,

for the new is old

and there's nothing there even resembling hope.

alas! for once no promises,

no future bright foretold by the stars.

only the bleakness of the dark night,

the coldness of the blanket made of snow,

the warmth that only the needle can provide

and the absolution found

when there's not a sip left

in the bottomless bottle of bourbon.




a line, (a short blue one)



lonesome ride


lonesome rides

into the dead of the night;

forging new lives, creating

memories out of the mist.

digging up corpses,

burying others alive.

setting fire to the mountains,

drowning the forests.

lonesome rides

into the darkest midnight.

head to head with the monsters,

eager, ready, willing

to perish.

nothing happens,

lonesome rides into

the night.

forget me, leave me behind,

like I did.

it's alright.

I stopped feeling

the first time the needle pierced my virgin vein.

it's alright, I said then,

it's fucking alright, I say now.

always the same,

lonesome rides

into the dead of the night.




a line, (a short blue one)



going back HOME


there is no place

like a flowery meadow

with no lights,

where bumblebees come to play;


searching for meaning

in the bottom of overpriced beer

(tasting like piss),

and in prepaid lips of dead dreams.


forever in the shadows

—always hiding are the true flowers—

lurking, waiting,

granting wishes to stubborn children;


can you even hear me?

the moments gone,

the kisses forgotten.

drowned in the great ocean.


devoured are the memories;

there's no reason to return.


only to move forth.

go back home.


the only place where

the soul comes alive;

the flames are bright and strong.


the mornings are forever erased;

wallet's constantly empty.


it's alright,

and you'll go back

(night after night).





a line, (a blue one)


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