The waves talk to me
In the silky soft words
I feel you coming, your steps
Yet I see only footprints
And they do dissapear, soon.

The waves whisper to me
In the secret language
Of Latin or maybe Greek?
I can only make the difference
Between the words you tell me
Or make no difference at all.

The waves whisper
And you are gone.

Tender snowflakes shake down my world
As I sit by the fire in the late afternoon
The icy frosting around my heart does not
Melt yet. It is shattered down too soon.

I am sitting by the fire, thinking of you
As the flames sip up my flamboyant soul
Maybe I was too wrong to search for the truth.
The little vibration of subconscious. Does not soothe.

We were both aware of the nameless,
The little feeling which increases too swiftly
Nameless. As we didn't want to just call it
Love. Soon the fire sipped it up, too.

The velvet cover of the book
Where I enclosed my soul
Entangled on the hard pages
I painted the lines
When the heart whispered.

I poured my soul
Like I poured honey in my tea
Yesterday evening.

It flew out and I closed the book
To hold it against my chest.
To immerse it with the teardrops.
To hate the lines and love the velvet.

There was no beginning
And the end had not even started.
But I had so much to say
I could not keep it this way.

There was love in too many lines
The aim of the world
And the sugar of the universe.
When I heard the whisper of my heart.

I put off the candle
To see the stars in my soul.
And search for the love
Between the Betelgeuse and Bellatrix.

One day. One night.
Pass by like the Northern Lights
One breath you take
Mesmerized by that mystic scatter.

One breath again
While tears fall in that abyss.
Why it is so dark down there?

The harmony of a violin
Is spreading its fair sound
Suddenly there is silence
And a snap of a broken string.

Yet nobody asked, how does it feel
When the strings of the soul cease.

Where is the truth in this world?
Does it knock on the door,
When it feels ready to enter
Or does it sneak into the heart
When it is ready to reveal?

Truth, so utopic
As it is to reach the farthest stars.
It overcomes the multiple bars
Seems as yet too metaphoric

Behind the garden of truth
You stand and watch the flowers bloom
But cannot open the floodlit door
Though the heart is seeking for the key
While truth remains still in the mystic breez.

Trust is fragile
Trust is made from the finest glass
Crocheted from the Ice Flowers
Pieced together with hundred hours.

Trust is tender
Trust has the wings of a butterfly
Blessed with the heart of a hummingbird
Invisibly, with delicacy, Trust is dispersed.

When Trust shatters
The sharp pieces stream together in your heart
As it will take hundred more hours
To find every fragment, yet hundred more days
To make up the Ice Flower with hardest ways.

The blessing Sun
Sets behind the horizon
The high call of a swallow
Keeps the secrets of the skies
Down there is a windy forest
The perfect shadow for lost souls
Through the spring crops
Arranging the steps
Or hovering in dreams
The slender trees bend closer
To welcome the stranger
Another lost soul
Looking for the door
Of Purgatory?
Who brought you here?
At the door of Fairy Woods
The sweetest symphony
Lies within
You hear the songs of love
You hear the songs of beauty.
Before you stand again
In front of the rising Sun
And down there is a forest
So calm and silent
Perfect tranquility and peace
But still a fairy song in your ears
Echoes far, or in your mind.