In the corridors of your thoughts,
where shadows climb walls,
time trembles like a shy bird,
trapped beneath the dome of the self.

Every step a struggle,
every door a verdict,
and behind each key
the whisper of worlds
you will never enter.

The air tastes of dust and silence,
of machines spinning without purpose.
Your heart beats to the rhythm of uncertainty,
an insect
striking the glass of the world.

Was the metamorphosis a curse,
or simply this:
what we all are—
losses in endless spaces,
stains on maps
no one reads anymore?

Yet in your pain,
fragile as cobwebs in twilight,
there lives a secret:
to grasp the invisible,
to feel the unnameable,
and to find, in silence,
what we long ago forgot.

You build yourself a room of mist,
windowless,
yet filled with the whispers of voices long gone.
The walls breathe heavily,
like creatures you cannot see,
who settle in the hollows of your dreams.

A beetle crawls across the ceiling,
slower than time itself,
each leg burdened by a question
you never dared to ask.

Outside—
the city of paper,
torn by a wind
that refuses to rest.
Streets lead to nowhere,
and the nowhere bears your name.

Your footsteps echo like murmurs from other lives.
A labyrinth of faces,
their eyes forever closed.
You search for the exit,
but find only mirrors,
their glass fogged by your breath.

In this house of night, you are king,
prisoner, and creator all at once.
A butterfly without colors,
fluttering through rooms
that no light has ever touched.

© fey (23/11/24)

I am longing manifesting itself through ink-splotted pages,
right when the evening sun hits the crown the distant oaks are facing; reigning the hidden realms of forests fading. Autumn fell right through the plaster cast my heart had build through you, waiting, pending, just for another trace of touch to cave in. You would know. As I am speaking winter had long accumulated snow,  not knowing if its featherlight swift should strife your skin or march right in with blizzards where only spring light would keep out the cold. Sometimes the paper fills itself with words I barely manage to rest upon, strong; strokes of blind passion passing on, onto the next, onto the next one. I sigh deeply, I blink in the distance, forlorn. You see, life had me once in its reverie, pale blue dot, green moss moth, things with no sense, things I touch through this rose-colored lense. You wouldn't know. Maybe you do but mostly you don't.

© fey (15/11/24)

Wondrous porcelain above,
the pines have felt your touch beyond
and in the woods we sing –
of ephemeral, heavy spring.

© fey (09/11/24)

I'm kind of glad
that the world is dying today.
I've longed to beseech the ruins lost,
under the abyss ink of my gentle fingerprints, as I
dance among the sage green moss
and meadows shine, the dew drops glint.
I am of doom, I am of loss.
I'd love to see the world forsaken.
Only now, only today has the universe marked me as its prey
and I bent towards the ending day.

© fey (12/11/24)

A heavy stillness drapes the morning,
as if the world exhaled and forgot to breathe back in
the lifted veil.

Fog's gathering her memories, thick and unhurried,
softening edges, obscuring distance,
turning familiar streets into corridors of gray; silencened »memento mori«'s.

Trees rise as ancient monoliths,
their branches reaching, half-dissolved,
shadowlike, shape-shifting forms,
echoes of themselves in muted twilight –
soft and broken, changing ties.

© fey (09/11/24)

Sleeping beneath the shell of my once beloved;
enduring cold, letting the depths of winter unfold.
For spring to come, where I shall plant thy seeds anew,
because I loved to caress the withered petals too.

© fey (03/11/24)

I may not love you to the moon and back
but
I still cherish the bulky craters you have left
on
the surface of my withered heartstrings,
oh the wondrous perils of heartache.

© fey (18/10/24)

You are
Tender twilight dangling below
Chiaroscuro paintings of snow.
And when those meadow eyes of yours glow green
And pale the glistening emeralds beneath
Tender necks of aristocrats,
My love enlightens the shadowed sea
For you and only you to be.

© fey (18/09/24)

It's a dark place again,
where humans lay their 9 to 5 hands
on concrete dreams for them to dare plan
but never to achieve,
for even a glimpse of a moment,
for the fracture of a canvas with no end.

© fey (16/08/24)

Under the moon's soft, silvery glow,
A white spider weaves its porcelain thread,
Amidst lavender blooms that gently sway,
In the night's tender breath, delicately spread.

Elegant limbs trace a whispered dance,
Across petals that dream of the Lethe's serene flow,
A river of forgetting, where old sorrows fade,
Yet here, in this garden, memories gently grow.

Each movement is a testament to nature's grace,
In the lavender's embrace, a tranquil romance,
Where time pauses, and the heart finds rest,
As the white spider spins its eternal trance.

© fey (20/07/24)

I tint your eyes in hues of an auburn sky,
set aflame a starling's wings, flapping lazily in delight.

You are my sunset, a gentle murmur from within,
I will see you again, when the sunken snow drops return back in spring.

© fey (06/07/24)

In the garden, roses bloom,
Casting shadows, scenting gloom,
Petals whisper, colors gleam,
In their beauty, lies a dream.

Life's grand tale in blooms unfolds,
Each rose a story softly told,
From bud to blossom, swift to fade,
In their essence, truth displayed.

Thorns remind of trials faced,
Yet in pain, pure grace is traced,
Life, like roses, sweet and brief,
Balanced between joy and grief.

Morning dew and evening light,
Kiss the roses, pure delight,
Cycles spin, time flows and flows,
In each moment, wisdom grows.

In their fragrance, love resides,
In their bloom, all time abides,
Roses teach us, life is this –
A fleeting, fragrant, tender kiss.

© fey (15/06/24)

In a land of poets, thinkers too,
Where words resound, both deep and true,
Where spirits shine, with gleaming hue,
In Weimar, Heidelberg and Rhine anew.
Where forests whisper, rivers glide,
From Alpine heights to the sea’s side,
Where cities grow, where markets bide,
And bridges grace the Spree with pride.

But beneath all the glitz and striving,
A shadow grows, cold and conniving,
A poison seeks our hearts depriving,
A hate that sets divisions thriving.
The stranger, who as guest has come,
With hopeful gaze and weary thumb,
Feels the unwelcome, harsh and numb,
The chilly breath that words become.

Where once diversity was hailed,
Where neighborly strength always prevailed,
Now fear and anger have assailed,
A ghost that in the streets has wailed.
Remember we, what we once were,
A land being built by hands together,
Through hospitality, we once were sure,
In brotherhood, a bond to weather.

Let us raise our voices high,
Against the hate that seeks to pry,
For a united life to vie,
For humanity and a hopeful sky.
For Germany is not hate and split,
Not fear and enmity’s dark pit,
It's the power of reform unlit,
It’s the bridge to times that fit.

A land of light and darkest hours,
That always sees the morrow’s flowers,
In us, in love's enduring powers,
There blooms the hope, there springs the towers.
So let us stand, so let us fight,
For a united land, in unity's light,
For all people, far and near,
For peace and freedom; humanity clear.

© fey (14/06/24)

I buried your smile beneath the rose garden,
for when the buds pick on the cry of the purple martin,
you'll be there,
never apart in
the winter-y longing, so strong, an
easy way for the dreaming soil to catch wrens,
you prolonged underneath, before me,
before us, before the rain-drenched, silvery shining stems
for all the world to catch, for all the prying eyes to see.

So let me water your gentle dimples, where the petals fimble.
Because I love you,
and I love our messy rose garden,
alluring bees, always keeping them from starving.

© fey (08/06/24)

In the floral trio of the noble honeysuckle,
a honeydewed sound unfolds in your place so subtle;
and when the cat warms its mosaic fur's bundle,
the carpenter bee's bold hum sparks 'midst magenta blossoms humble.

Midnight-black violet cascades,
in its mien, the feline face, serene and staid;
the last ice palaces would here ignite,
as dragonflies rose from jagged winter heights.

© fey (06/06/24)

I have my way with words,
while you draw moonlit circles
around my tell-tale heart
in the fading highway streetlights.

You have your way with hands,
firm, yet gentle like
a rose with steady thorns;
tucking away those pesky hair strands of mine.

I have my way with distance,
a star whose light long died
but never ceasing to mesmerize
those who dare gazing at the velvet night sky.

We both have our way with meek,
yours soft to the touch; rain on burning wounds,
mine a sharp long knife, smooth across your cheek,
as both we longingly complete our long forsaken muse to keep.

© fey (26/05/24)

As I kept my head down on the meadow,
all the murmurs of the bugs were speaking,
unintelligible syllables, the air in afternoon's glow,
and in the distance birches creaking.

You were striking mid-town errands,
the pace of life kept men at bay,
but you froze at the aisle for carrots,
thinking them as alien bouquets.

Instead of roses you collected
those orange flowers at that aisle,
so not alike them, disconnected
but the thought of them brought you a smile.

Me picking on that bundle carrots,
for my pesky, haughty parents to stare at,
as if you were to gave me flowers,
as if we had our own agreement,
in these secret after-hours.

© fey (26/05/24)

Light my fire,
shade and tender,
embers dark,
heart surrenders,
to you,
no vigor,
to you,
the sweetest of liquor.

I call you
mine.
I call you when the lightnings flicker
in the brazen afternoon.
The gleam of eyes still linger
on the milky porcelain of moon.

Until no spark shall burn again,
Until we meet with no restrain.
I love you,
I love you with the utmost of care.
I love you when the sun turns gray
and the seas recede and cease.
I love you in the darkest of day,
until we meet, until we fade
and only the ashes remain.
And I will love you no less.

© fey (23/05/24)

There the sublime clouds drift swiftly,
in a sense were the white rearranges
the future to a distant storm that hits me
and whatever on its way might changes.

I gather the moss, moist around the edges
of where my head lays still and longing,
I gather despair where the butterfly catches
the ranging motion of insects foreboding.

I tried to stay around the scorching sun,
its rays even illuminating the darkest of shades,
maybe I'll stay safe and sound on the longest of runs
life unmistakingly sends towards its hidden fates.

Maybe I'll be safe
in this cornflower-blueish maze
where the periphery of its vigilant gaze
skirts the tiniest bit of hope towards my way.

Or maybe not.

© fey (20/05/24)

I keep the monsters at bay today,
Their future claws on my peripheral view.
The clouds are swelling in a distant gray,
As life hints me to this uncanny hue.

My eyes searched for God today,
Not in a way people keep praising about,
More like how bees know where to lay
Their small and delicate tenants; hinting no sound.

I let go of sorrow today,
As the breeze carried the chatter of birds astray.
And as the last rays of sunshine wandered along,
I carried my ****** home. I carry it home.

© fey (19/05/24)

How strange, the silvery strands of rain,
tuck against the ***** canopies forlorn,
the sky an unwritten paper-white
and I
feel it slipping; the control of life (I ought to keep)
as droplets keep dripping and writhing,
the starless night keeps spinning.

They keep talking about
the things to do after graduation,
as if
life is always this mundane line of time we're facing,
never stagnating, always wailing
in the distance, its heavy alarms not changing.
**** this societal construction,
virtually leaching, draining, money keeping
capitalist ******* we're never willingly leaving
behind.

How strange, the silvery strands of rain,
the only thing real, the only honest feeling
of mine.

© fey (18/05/24)

Poets and flowers persist alike
They both bloom and wither away while they align
To the harsh winters, the shifting currents of life
has to offer

Will you gently dance with me
till I too,
wither?

And will you hold my petals
as if you were to
kiss the palm of my hand too
as we both sway away,
as we both drift together?

© fey (16/05/24)

In the garden's tender shade I lie,
Underneath the azure sky,
Where whispers weave in harmony,
With the rustle of the leaves so free.

Beneath the boughs, I find my seat,
Where words of poets come to greet,
Their verses dance in the gentle breeze,
As I immerse in their symphonies.

A tapestry of blooms unfold,
Their colors bright, their stories told,
Each petal sings its own refrain,
In a language only hearts can gain.

The sun, a painter, strokes the air,
With golden hues, so fine and rare,
Its rays caress each blade of grass,
In a choreography, oh so vast.

And as I lose myself in verse,
In the garden's blessing, I immerse,
For here, between the earth and sky,
I find the beauty that will never die.

In nature's arms, I gently sway,
As time itself just slips away,
And in the silence, I'm not alone,
For poetry and nature, they are my home.

© fey (09/05/24)

How do you call the urge to sleep on a cozy picnic blanket in the summer evening's warm breeze, with nothing but the blue of cornflowers and the crimson red of poppies to keep, gently swaying in the wind? Tender fatigue claiming your eyelids; those strong and lively limbs of yours that swept you of the highest hills and lowest of steeps, the sweetest scents of fauna heavily threading the silk of air, lingering there? And maybe there could be someone next to you you love or maybe not, maybe it's just the thought of laying there for the bare velvet sky to swallow you whole, right where the pinkish blush of sunset fades behind the dimple of stars, ready to unfold.

© fey (05/05/24)

In the realm where twilight weaves its dance,
A canvas of gold, a crimson trance,
There lies the rosy sunset's embrace,
A symphony of hues, a tender grace.

Upon the horizon, where day meets night,
Ethereal whispers in soft twilight,
The sun's last kiss, a fiery blend,
A story of beginnings, a start with no end.

The sky ablaze with passion's glow,
As shadows stretch, the world below,
In hues of rose and amber fire,
Nature's grandeur, a divine choir.

Each cloud a brushstroke, painted bold,
In whispers of stories yet untold,
The earth below, in rapture sighs,
As daylight fades and darkness tries.

Yet in this moment, time suspends,
As heaven and earth, their hearts transcend,
In the rosy sunset's fleeting gaze,
Eternal beauty, a soul's enraptured maze.

So let us linger, in this divine art,
Let poetry sing, and dreams impart,
For in the rosy sunset's tender hue,
We'll find the beauty, sustaining truth.

© fey (05/05/24)

Sometimes I want a life I call not mine,
nestled in watchful eyes of untold dreams,
like night slips through the crack of bones
and moonlight calls the wary veins home.

But I know that want would dissipate
right after its imaginary completion
Because desire keeps an ephemeral business
and suffering is not as fleeting.

Life was never meant to be
this artificial currency
people call it money,
but it's bankruptcy
of life, of possibilities.

© fey (01/05/24)

In the heart of the city, where magenta veins pulsate,
A symphony of lights, where shadows dissipate.
Alleys whisper secrets, in electric glow they bathe,
Where loneliness is currency, in another world depraved.

Billboard signs flicker like fireflies in the night,
A digital dance, a city's heartbeat in flight.
In the labyrinth of circuits, where dreams collide,
Loneliness echoes, in the depths where souls want to hide.

Fast-paced technology, a relentless stream,
In the dimly-lit alleys, lost souls scream.
Connections fleeting, in a cybernetic maze,
Anxiety is thriving, in the digital craze.

In the city smog's haze, where futures are sold,
Humanity fades, in a world growing cold.
Echoes of the past, in the television's static hum,
Heartbroken minds persist, in the city's artificial thrum.

Yet amidst the chaos, a flicker of hope,
In the sprawling streets, where outcasts elope.
For in the depths of darkness, a spark ignites,
A rebellion against loneliness, in the rain-drenched nights.

So let the puddle glow, let it guide the way,
Through fiberglass and darkness, we'll find our day.
In the embrace of technology, we'll carve our fate,
And in the retina-burning neon lights, we'll find a new state.

© fey (27/04/24)

In the dim-lit maze of life's intricate game,
We dance, entwined, like a moth to a flame.
Beneath the veil of the starry night's sprawl,
Our souls converge, answering destiny's call.

Your essence, a beacon, in shadows aglow,
Drawing me closer, an irresistible flow.
With each hesitant step, I'm ensnared in your light,
Lost in the depths of this ethereal flight.

Yet, amidst the allure, a tempest brews deep,
A turmoil of passion, where secrets keep.
For in the fervor of love's fervent embrace,
Lies the perilous beauty of vulnerability's grace.

Like a moth to a flame, I'm bound and enticed,
By the flame of your love, by the price.
For though the fire burns with a fervent desire,
It also consumes, a relentless pyre.

In the flicker of moments, we find our reprieve,
In the shadowed corners where hearts believe.
For in the union of souls, in love's sweet refrain,
We're forever bound, like a moth to its flame.

© fey (26/04/24)

In shadows deep where moonlight wanes,
Where whispers dance in eerie strains,
There prowls a creature of the night,
With eyes aglow, a chilling sight.

Amongst the hibiscus, crimson blooms,
Their petals soaked in midnight gloom,
A vampire lurks, his thirst unbound,
In silence, stalking without a sound.

He yearns for blood, a crimson stream,
A haunting echo, a silent scream,
And in the garden, where hibiscus weep,
His hunger stirs from slumber's keep.

Yet amidst the darkness, a delicate grace,
The hibiscus blooms, a fragile embrace,
Their beauty rivals the moon's soft glow,
A stark contrast to the vampire's woe.

For in their petals, life's essence lies,
A crimson hue beneath starlit skies,
But to the vampire, they hold no cure,
Just reminders of what he must endure.

So in the night, where shadows creep,
The vampire hunts, his hunger deep,
And though the hibiscus may wilt and fade,
Their beauty lingers in the darkness, unswayed.

© fey (24/04/24)

In silence lay concealed and still,
The blue of heavens here ahead,
It held the reins of clouds, yet frail,
While petals strove a lasting thread.

Astray she turned her hand away,
Towards the pale horizon's line,
In despair the black birds sway,
Around bare branches fading shrine.

In endless gleam of sun so pale,
Averted from the longing death,
Carnations scent, so bright and hale,
She staggers back to life's last breath.

There, where light falls veilly thin,
Enveloped in the darkest night,
A whisper of peace softly spins,
A distant melody, a laugh still light.

In whispers of transience frail,
Unfolds the delicacy of a strand,
That through time carries without fail,
The warmth a set of hands prevails.

And in life's chaos, heavy dire,
A spark of hope ignites within,
Thus moments so deeply inspire,
That life’s enchantment does begin.

© fey (23/04/24)

Have you ever seen the rain?
Amidst the mossy caverns light,
No pain among the insane’s plight,
Imprinting silvery vervain,
Have you ever seen the rain?

Falling softly, washing pain,
Through whispers of the trees decay,
Under the gentle stars anew,
With pleas serene, a lasting hue.
Have you ever felt the rain?

Kissing cheeks with no disdain,
A soothing touch, a cool embrace,
In its realm no harm, no pain,
Have you ever felt the rain?

It cleanses wounds that lie within,
Bewitching souls, a gentle kin,
And as it falls, a symphony unfolds,
Of nature's orchestra, with stories untold.

Have you ever heard the rain?
Its melodic chorus, a sweet refrain?
A lullaby for restless souls,
Guiding them with peaceful notes.
Have you ever heard the rain?

It murmurs secrets to the earth,
Of rebirth, life, and unknown mirth,
And in its cadence, a sacred art,
The rhythm of life, a beating heart.

So, have you ever seen the rain?
Gracefully mundane in its reign,
For in its tears, there's wisdom deep,
That even storms lay you to sleep.

© fey (17/04/24)

My heart is dark beneath the tall pines,
no light flows through the dead of night.

The shadows cling to the flesh of bark,
in dizzying heights I count all the dead stars.

© fey (19/10/23)

I wander swiftly on the edge of moonlight,
when the sun hides its translucent shadows
and the city indulges in everyone's sight,
moving under sunken, rain-starved meadows.

My name is not yours to take.
I am myself, I am thy ghostly gaze.
And I vanish from the remnants of our occupied space,
without you knowing, without the softness of your gentle face.

© fey (09/10/23)

What does your heart do at night?
It spins silk silently above the clouded sky.
And when it levitates back to thee
the moon is curdled in every beat of me.

© fey (20/11/22)

It's a quiet autumn where
your footsteps were felt last.
A cool breeze blows through
the emptiness of a concaved ribcage nest,
where once a summer boldly raged
and now the snowless winter takes its rest.

© fey (03/09/23)

And I was gentle
on my empty meadow,
as they took away
all the kindness I had.

© fey (31/05/23)

Alone in the city of melancholy,
I feel the street sides smoldering my hazy eyelids.
At night the moons of lanterns touch me only marginally
and wing cracked moths circle the illuminated edges of the panel building's decayed balcony -
gentle; endlessly.
Infinite depths of gray beneath the stone canyon skin
of 1980's asphalt-wrinkled face of my ardently antagonized Berlin.

© fey (17/08/23)

Alone in the city of love,
the sky sleeps under the cheekbones of stars
and night lights illuminate
the sunken hope of touch-starved hearts.

© fey (09/08/23)

your sheepish smile resides
inbetween coffee stained book pages.

pearl-white row of teeth abide,
as those lips linger on the rim of forgotten faces.

© fey (14/07/23)

won my love with a joker card,
halfway through the graveyard of my heart.

© fey (12/07/23)

Today I caught a glimpse of cold,
accumulating through
a summer blazing's green-leafed hue.

In yonder search of gently swaying thunders
briscle scents of cozily wafting coffee wonders,
where rain collides and scorching light draws circles.

From where autumnal yearning lurks,
different nuances of gentle fingertips return,
directing grim muses to go berserk.

© fey (05/07/23)

The skies gleam soft, spun by cloudy filaments;
Seven vertical contrails, pearlwhite, pale;
Our time together; liquid, trickling away,
the color of alabaster, corundum, topaz -
and you have gone lost, in our broken hourglass.

© fey (25/07/22)

She wanted the chaos back;
amplifying, energy flowing
like a swarm of untamed crows.

The sky whispering, murmuring
in the language of exploding words,
brimming with lethal force.

Her name was Rain and alone she reigned,
the skies of her choice.

© fey (24/07/22)

Summer's surrealness -
a dragonfly in space,
stars aligned in perfectly circled shapes.

Craving the tingling
foreboding sense of of cold -
burning fingertips, auburn smoke.

Autumn's delight - fiery
colorfulness, adorning
the piny mountainside.

© fey (24/07/22)

The summer light does not touch me.
It shines in delicate rivers on the brightly polished stairs,
where the gelatieri stroll with sweet iced coffee,
unimagined, oblivious.

The summer light does not touch me.
It brushes the children, who - in growing flocks -
chime their laughter atop neighbor's doors with delicate knocks;
bell-bright bicycle bells ringing.

The summer light does not touch me.
Twenty-three forty-four; peripheral car brake light coming forth.
The first leaf sonorously breathes “Goodbye; I'll leave”
and at last it creeps up, a swift cold touch -
the autumnal welcoming committee for my July melancholy.

© fey (24/07/22)

I see my kins dancing and laughing in unision
but I crave the silence - the forgotten sound of reverie.
Am I a part of their worldy communion
or is my world simply a lonesome treachery?

© fey (10/07/22)

Fairytales deliver less and less
the wry lovelorn's real wretchedness.

Whereas reality never competes
with a fairytale's alluring heartbeat.

© fey (19/06/22)

tw: sh/scars

i trace the white lines outside
as they trace me from within
like unfinished brushstrokes
they end on the canvas of skin.

© fey (07/06/22)

Rays of mik-white porcelain
covered her delicate fingertips -
as she painted the vast sky
a crescent companion.

© fey (05/06/22)

On a rustic bench there laid
a single cat of dire age.
Between lushful green she gazed
longingly into the distance - as if
far away she would catch a glimpse
of home to reside in irides of an amber lynx.

© fey (05/06/22)