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)

There is a longing in my heart.
I want a piece of the setting sun,
in my broken ribcage to be a part
of and let my thoughtful worries run.

Away.
Away.
Far away.

© fey (7 weeks ago)

words from long ago, unspoken on my tongue,
merging to silence on my wary taste buds,
vaporizing the breath i fiercely held in my lungs

i see myself unable to still remember them.

© fey (04/03/20)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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 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)