.

When night is dark and full of terrors

When you are alone with your errors

When all will and strength have long vanished

And you are all but tired and famished

Broken into a million pieces

Ended by a somber world of pain

And pressure that always increases

When you missed the passage of the train

And must walk alone a thousand miles

Then your salvation becomes those smiles

No matter who they are or must be

Of the world-bush, they are the berry.

.

Probably a bit too short, rough and incomprehensible but heartfelt. At the image of the muse.

.

A silent stroll on plains of sand

Alone with the wind and the clouds

As the mind explores newfound land

And the soul bleeds away from crowds,

A moment lying on the sheets

Beautiful music playing loud

As avatars accomplish feats

That make hearts swell and spirits proud,

In a chapel of empty seats

Only the faith keeps up the shroud

And to a world of flat-out cheats

Nothing matters but those who bowed,

At night under the far dreamland

One reaps what the sunlight has sowed

And in those moments feels the hand

To which their own being is vowed.

.

Sometimes it is important to be a wanderer above the sea of fog.

.

The hands are small and pale

But oh so far from frail

Delicately they trace

Firm words upon the page

As if the greatest race

Was to be won by age

Should I take on the task

Or sigh behind my mask

Of course responds your voice

Not giving me a choice

.

Incomplete.

.

Sugar rolls sweet upon my tongue

And once again I feel so young,

Back to the age when leaves were green

And the world had a lustrous sheen,

Back to the times of simple joy

When we could all truly be coy,

Labyrinth of precious pleasure,

Whence have I buried this treasure?

What a spoonful of white powder

Can conjure up in an instant,

How it can make old songs louder

And remote years no more distant

Than the silver under your thumb,

I cannot say nor can explain

But beware that it makes one numb

To the world which then becomes plain…

It is as treacherous as snow

Even to those that think they know,

Sinister wolf in sheep’s clothing

Seed of endless, painful loathing,

Beware for this lady of death

Tightens her claws with each new breath,

Sugar rolled sweet onto my tongue

And once again I wake and long…

.

O immerse a dear rug.

.

Voices running so far and near,

Footsteps seeking their goal with haste,

A few glances ever so chaste

And hair flowing from there to here,

Some hands are fast to the making

Others equally to taking,

A tongue is strong, a nose is sharp,

Some words are wrong, some try to warp,

Gold and silver rain down faster

Than water and reign true master,

Trophy hearts and loved jewels

Followed by old enamoured mules

Cross path with spirits marveling

At the fruit of their travelling,

And in the middle of this crowd

A pair of ears tries to listen

To all those musics which glisten

Even though their own is so loud.

.

The greatest loneliness is surrounded by a thousand voices that you know.

Here ‘loved’ is to be said ‘lo-vèd’, sort of a diaeresis but not exactly.

.

Ancient though precious

.

Do not worship all that is new

Do not dismiss all that is old

For all that glitters is not gold

And can hurt what you never knew

Do not follow all that is bold

Do not forget all that is due

Don’t trust many over a few

Nor take for granted what is told

Do not limit to basic hue

Do not force to fit in the mold

And don’t let yourself shipped and sold

If it’s not what is truly you

You may break but must never fold

For one can sew pieces anew

But if a pillar is askew

It can give way to worse than mold

Finally if you have no clue

As to the speech I try to hold

Here: no matter how lost or cold

Your own voice will always ring true…

.

Knowledge is important but intelligence is essential.

.

My tongue is lead, my throat is dry,

Each new breath is more difficult,

My hope is dead, my smile is wry

I cannot fathom this dark cult,

Words are stuck deep down in my mind

For I am not able to find

The energy to get them out

Nor use keeping up this charade,

I hoped I would, could scream and shout,

In the end I will simply fade…

.

A very particular set of emotions and feelings tied to a very particular set of memories.

.

No more shall come and none more shall pass,

For all are dead and since long gone.

Atoning the sins of what they’ve done,

None remains of what has come to pass.

.

Another old poem, quite simple and rough but I somehow like it as is. It calls to my imagination in a way I can’t really explain.