The moon hangs ripe, the wind is sharp
I lie restless on my bed and sigh
Suddenly there’s the sound of the harp
Its melody ringing, crisp and sharp
Notes billowing like ribbons over the sky

The moon hangs ripe, the air is cold
I lie satiated on my bed; I'm glad
Suddenly a seahorn’s sonic boom unfolds
I stamp and I shout and I swear and I scold
Without the lilt of the harp I go mad!

When I hear the harp’s sweet blare
I forget all my suffering and shame
I hearken to the music there
Which bears me aloft up heaven’s stairs
Where my troubles are peacefully slain

They always ask me what I wanna do
Then they use the big words
"Future" and "happy", sometimes "passion".
Almost always in the same sentence.

What do I wanna do?
"Good question", I say.
Then my thoughts wander on
Mostly they go something like; I want to scream.

I want to scream my lungs out,
Scream until the air is gone,
My insides punctured,
and my breath is lost.

I know some people know partly what their answer is.
But I don't. How am I supposed to know
How am I supposed to have any idea what my future is going to look like
When my present, my today is so lost.

When I am so lost.

"To watch the water of the open ocean dance as it bathes in sunlight, there is not a more calming sight."

If the night could laugh
It would have the rhythms of your voice,
My favourite lullaby

If the light of an autumn dusk could could see
Its eyes would shine a bister glow
Of the gems that plate your irises

If a fleeting midnight's breeze could speak
It would have your voice
Whispering that same words you love to chime

If only the night could breathe
Perhaps it would be as beautiful as you