Lilacs out

Gegenwart As the cold wind on Europe blows and black stone stares at me it seems as the present is the only hope between the dry tomb of the past and the dim banquet of the future. Kings and Queens quickly forgotten, stone and wind longing out there immortal, and the realm of man always victorious even in loss. Silver and gold, silent witnesses of these hard times, number and write the lives of man. I'm one again, in all my pieces like the clouds that linger on a northern day. [Trier, 03-04/2016]

Europe at sunset, and my heart is rushing. A hawk flies as the road swims in the cold ocean of the forest hills. The woods slowly swallow me as old houses wave, and I don't know where I'm going, but I'm going with you. [Trier, 17-18/03/2016]

Between Sun and Moon [Death, part seven.] A poem in three parts. I. Time The air is still around the lake, the sky up high is clear and bright. My hands bear the signs of the at last come Winter, just as a hopeful rain lightly kisses the ground. II. Famine The sky is frozen, the cursed clear air embroidered with stars. All is hopeful in the breath of winter and at the lakeside. There are no clouds in sight, yet the Sun is hiding, as my blood is flowing. III. Sun and Moon This warm winter rain covers the Earth like you warm my heart, Sun and Moon stay still and fly in communion, like a garden grows, like a flower blossoms, like death, like life. [Inspiration: NEP Mikael Akerfeldt EP Georgette Pruneaux]

VI. Aftermath In the aftermath I walk through the fields, half frozen, half soaked winter-kissed fields. The black water gazes before me through the still trees, and drops of thick air fall on my lips. The frozen fairy queen comes out of her sternly forgotten remembrance grave. Elves and warriors sit at the hearth, in thought or in flesh, and we laugh and revel until the last light. Some birds chirp like they're waving "hello" to the falling dark, bringing hope to this end, bringing wood to this fire.

V. Christmas The world spins, death has come and it is the third day. I've seen the mountains and I've felt the Sun. I've seen the bleak grass and I've felt the thick fog. Nothing ever goes as planned, be it for a spiteful God in the heart of old and angry souls, be it for the foul filth of life that raging swallows me, be it for the mirth and breeze that come with breathing life. My heart is lighter and aches like my fragile flesh. Elven smiles and sweeter words, feeling like there's more to say.

IV. One day The sky has darkened. Death is coming. The day that should not be, one more day was left and laughs before us, heavy clouds with no rain following me. Winter comes, tomorrow and at last. Time will pass, and this year will rest. The tomb will stay closed for three days and I'll wait by the hearth. Winds howl, the vortex makes me weaker, I'm on my knees while I watch the wreaths and all humans around. I let out every breath. As serenity comes I wait for the last day. I foresee its dawn, and the fight of tomorrow.

III. Reed I'm a reed on the banks of the river. I tell a story, and the wind gives me the colours. Pearl of the South, Black of the North, Grey of the East, and Rose of the West. I'm a reed, I'm the story I tell. Sometimes I wish I could stop and savour a wind: I breathe in and dream, and westward I gaze. The sunset is near.