Sunday, August 29, 2010

The Boy with the Empty Eyes

He stared in solitude.
With silent ecstasy, drawing me away from my forests,
into a clean wide shore.
It felt like I'd never been to the sea before.
Caressing each thorn, his flower became
the picturesque translation of my confidence,
deeply buried into my mouth.

So I threw down shields and clothing,
loudly sounding when hitting the ground.
He came closer and opened empty eyes
for me to swim in.
I couldn't help feeling both small and entirely accepted
in such sea of deep blankness and meaning,
as we both moaned in delightful communication.
Layed on the water, chest-high,
softened thorns perforating my untouched skin,
I could finally have a rest from myself.
New life and new comfort blossoming, it could be said.

And it was known from the start, up to the raising of this tribute,
the certainty of this phenomenon,
which will not be erased, regardless of its duration.
I may return to my pit in the woods,
but with at least a single thornless, colorful flower,
caressing the withered trees in me.

Monday, August 23, 2010


From behind the church tower,
covering the evershining sunlight,
nature was defied in sunset.
The swan glided through gilded airspace,
sounding like a clock as girls looked above,
a ticking ankle marking time spent and time lost.
Promises were whispered by the grounded youth,
smiling beneath pale skin
Hearts and fingers crossed.

Swans on the water had lost their watch on time,
caught by the winning tide.
Water always proved to flow harder than seconds away.
Birds were still confused about what their own reasons were,
drowning feathers on troubled streams,
broken clocks that insisted on ticking.
"Look", the infant mumbled distractedly, straightening her socks,
"they are dancing for us."

Summer sunsets were still over before they even began,
when the girls look for their white ribbons,
as fabric melts within white birds.
"I think it glided away."