Sometimes...
Late at night,
In the pitch - black
Silence
I can see you
Crystal clear.
Your mild smile,
Your tender gaze,
Your dissipating silhouette
On the blurred canvas
Of my deepest fear
The horrid suffering
In pitch - black
Silence
I can see you
But only for a moment
Sometimes...
Late at night.

Vapours of scents,
Lunar crescents
Of words in amber -
Photons arise  
In monochromatic
Moments of time.

Static sounds
Of nebulous breathing,
Neurotic crowds
Of memories weeping
Between scratched walls,
And monochromatic
Moments of time.

Tonight
I can feel the scent
of the past agonies
and their bitter taste
to the tenebrous end
in pentagons
of light.

Tonight
Death feeds on the scent
of every poor on my skin
and their sweet taste,
sinking me within
crucifixes
of white.

My steps have led me
To a far unknown place
Where the Beast is hiding,
Where the Dark is shining
Across the other side
Of the moor.

Magpies have sung me
About a far unknown place
Where my Heart is hiding
Into a deep dark well
On the other side
Of the moor.

My memories have left me
Into a black unknown place
Where a patient Solitude awaits,
Unnatural Silence circulates
A deep dark well
On the blackest side
Of the moor.

*The Beast is laughing...

I think of you
In the late hours of the night…
It’s where I find
Your eyes shooting across the sky -
Your shadow matching mine
And Silence
becomes Absolute.

I search for you
In the eternal waves of time…
It’s where I see
Your black and white seconds
The black moments -
And White
Becomes Ink.

I long for you
In the early hours of dawn…
When the lights are low,
When memories grow
When everything I know
It’s colour blind and cold –
And you become
Another you.

When I blink
I tender the grey clouds
The soft movements,
Gentle the fierce wounds -
Grinding memories
With my bare hands,
Too dense and bleak.

When I walk by
The lights go low,
The leaves turn yellow,
They fly and sink
Swirl and speak
Silent sounds
Of primordial cycles -
Too dense, too bleak.

When I breathe...
Shivers of cold lives,
The echoes of distant deaths,
The murmurs of deepest depths,
Surpressed in lullabies -
A sonet of primordial cycles,
Too dense, too weak.

With a single gesture
I can make the Earth stay still.
Time is a ***** villain
And I like to hear It scream
Seconds, moments, lifetimes -
Under the pressure
Of my fingertips -
Primordial senses
Too dense, too bleak, too weak.