She jumps back and forth on a mud stained road.
Her little yellow boots violently shattering the tranquility of shallow puddles.

" I trample upon the weak"

A breeze, moaning softly of autumn confessions lifts her blonde hair and reveal 2 bright opals reflecting a dark sky.

The smell of mouldy cornfields and rotting leaves ****** the noise.
Leaves gritting their teeth. Blissfully she splatters through the countryside.

" My scars mark the path which you shall follow"

A sudden halt of the feet, fleeting moments of gazing into her own reflection. A realisation of nothingness..

Just for a brief spell

She realises that she is alone...
That she has no meaning...

" I walk this road alone, I am the shepard of a flock made of condensed hope."

A flash of lightning breaks the introspection. Woefully she splashes along the dirt road, relishing the autumn mirage of a dying countryside.

Her rubber boots squeaking followed by soft snickering.

" I refuse to see the harsh and bleak snow that hangs in the clouds."

a vast ocean of black looks up from a shallow puddle at my feet.

Her boots in my stained hands...
I lean myself against a shovel, stabbed firmly yet violently into the muck of the earth.

And for a glimpse i see her reflection.
For a moment i realise

I am alone
my life has no meaning.

A flash of lightning breaks my introspection.
The haze lifts and i see her opal eyes gaze up at me from the shallow puddle..

" A shepard with no flock is unfit to guide the innocent to their home."

Those opaline eyes blaming me, judging me. A burden unfit for my shoulders.

I toss the dirt in her eyes.

As i place mine ear against the ravaged and ***** soil of the earth..
I hear her boots squeaking.. and soft splashes.

" I tread upon the corpses of the weak."

Raindrops paint black the world..

Each drop her eye... gazing me down...

Blaming me for deeds that were done.

I yearn to return...

To those days

Of whispering autumn breezes, rotting leaves...

And her...
Blisfully jumping around in shallow puddles...

As i watched her from behind the trees.

I am a mossman.
Sometimes i am green, sometimes yellow, sometimes gray but always alone.
My horizon touches into the far nihilism.
A place where sunlight is absent and never burns my eyes.
No signs of life, just the falling of leaves and the cries of the wind.
Snow, rain, stars, i have seen it all
but the light, i have never seen.

No dreams to follow, no objectives set, no plans, nothing.

A depressing jest......
just me, myself and the lethargic landscape.
Anchored to the bark, drowning in a sea of time.
A year is an hour..... an hour is a year....
Does not matter to me...
I am not going anywhere.
Mij destination leads to a No man's land.


I am a mossman.
Gazing at the starlit sky until my insomnia slumbers.
Dancing deadlights disperse their euphoria.
And twilight fills with the rusty perfume of melancholy.

Now the fragrance pierces my nose.
That typical rust smell, cascades of scarlet ripples on the floor.
Glittering rubies dripping past my window like the morning rain.
Glassy eyes gazing at a marble skin, that touches like graveyard leather.
Fits the interior, fits my mood.
A shaking hand loses strength, loosens its grip.
Eyes on infinity, through the window, at the dark, at the moon.
One last exhale, curtain call.
Falling forever...


I was a mossman...
Sometimes i am green, sometimes yellow, sometimes gray but always

alone.