You and I,
buried beneath the coruscated winter sky
In taciturn stillness,
half-enraptured by the unmasked glory,
and half by the unasked in the others eyes.

There is no time to hold us;

There is no other moment.

Volatile, visible breaths,
The almost- touch of our fingertips,
and the quiet intimacy of our insignificance against the endless, open sky.

You,
My darling,
and I.

Look look look
  At this huge clay
   Clay is  falling on top of  clay
    The end of clay is also clay
      Hey!!! stop stop stop......
        Stop saying it "my ,mine"
           Nor its yours , nor  its mine
             Its four days !!!
               World is festival of four days    
                 Then the clay is just waste
                   The end  
                     Dont make  
                       here hustle bustle
                         Also i am clay
                           also you are clay
                             This Castes is clay
                              Those Clours are clay
                                  "  Just God is high"
                                      Everything else
                                         Is just
                                               " clay"

always annoying
silence of the wolves
uncertain the proximity of the danger
it always made people nervous

No matter how tough
I may seem
No matter how loved
I may be

No matter how much
I tried and may still
Seem to try

After this last,
This final betrayal
I cannot but give in
Give up

I give up trying
To be better
Better than I can
Be better than I am

I can give up
Trying
But will never give
Up caring

I will give up
Fabricating lies
To please, to accomodate
People I do not seem to know

I will give up
Fabricating a life
To placate, to appease
People who do not seem to care

I will start
Realising a dream
To create, to build
A person that is worthy

I will be
Trying a new way
To live, to give
A person to myself

For I am, so I learn
Everyday
Everyway
No more hiding

I hate it because I become vulnerable in front of others.
They start to see a side of me that is depressed, unhappy, or whatever they may call it as they see.
I don’t like feeling this way, feeling as if I’m a mourner at a never ending funeral.
If you saw my true colors all you would see is blue.

i’ve been thinking a lot
about your hand in mine
the way that our fingers
and palms intertwine

but i think about death
about loss, about worth
i admit that i fear
to return to the earth

where our bodies dissolve
into roots of a tree
and will grow into trunk
then limb, then leaf

but i've heard from a bird
that death will reverse
and your heart will beat hard
like it did at your birth

so hold on for dear life
with your hand in mine
if death makes us let go
it is only for time



© Mike Mortensen