Mingled pain and pleasure,
I grasp the essence and harmony,
Of my heart´s  made subtle letters.
I breake a piece from the glass wall
Tossing it through the soul
And feeling it downstream
Through my crystallised vessels.

A glass wall of weakness
A glass wall of fear and madness.
A glass wall that is always there
Even if you hardly notice the presence.
I let the flow of the delicate words
Of the inner poem caress my soul
The inspirational power flooding in.

But the glass wall is ever so hard to break
So hard to step through for my own´s sake.
Is ever stronger when I feel the stress
Of the world´s burden and saddness.

Why I even let myself to be bothered?
Because I want to break through
The glass wall.

That is a dream.
For me as a woman.
For all of us.
A metaphor for our soul.

Tenderness of the steps
A night fairy walks on.
In the garden of starlight.
One bold tree grows, alone.

The night breeze is shaking
The branches, so fragile,
Though firm enough for taking
The burden of life's petal.

The fairy's shadow is casting
The beautiful moments in all
Unsure of how long is lasting
The shimmering hope's crystal.

Nature's wings are unforeseen
And yet the roots hold tight
No wind no storm no spleen
Would dispel the tree's light.

The strongest willpower
From the depth of the heart
Will hold walls more harder
Never missing soul's part.

It's easy to destroy
And easy to fall
Breaking the fragments
Haunting the phantoms
You want more, you want all.

There must be saddness
Covered in hope's gloden rag
Everywhere, isn´t there madness?
You can destroy me,
But you can never break,
My wall of will and hope.

I have a script painted in my heart
With black ink and gothic style
It is a passionate, fine art
Written with thoughts, so worthwhile.

It took me a while to wonder
And still it grasps every day
To think and linger
Between the life's eternity
In its mysterious way.

Every day there is something
To add more to the script
Every day is an art
Of living and surviving
In the depth.

All the time I take the pen
And practice the gothic font
It is a fine art, I am passionate
I do not let the ink to stain.

There is still so much to obtain.
Do not let the ink to stain.

The dew-washed sun
Sneaks out from the horizon
As a new day shows
Its joyful accomplishment

You sit on the rock
Of the moon kissed valley
Under the vast eternity
Accompanied by Anguish
And Sadness on your ohter side

The time when the bell rang hardly
Resonanting through your subtle heart
Breaking it fiercely apart.
The feeling of hurt and smell of blood
You desparately ask for the help of god.

Hearing the voice of destiny
Calling in whisper, swarming in shadow
You must rise again from the pain
Like a phoenix from the dust.

In the fresh fields and foggy nights
Putting the pieces together again
Like a never ending puzzle
The smallest fractions will always be lost.

Where are the helping hands,
Where is my host?

It is only you who can acknowlege
The true answer of all
The help, masterfully built
In both of your shoulders
Grasping the pieces
With your languid fingers.

There is hope in every fragment
There is power in thoughtful mind
The time when you step out from your cave
You realise you have only love, you hate in vain.

The life is riding on a merry-go-round
Whirling around the stars
It is rushing and running through
In a continues line of thought.

Until you stop it, make it stand still
And study the millions of pictures
Of the enormous amount of lives
And step on the solid base of it
And whirl along with the thrill.

So many souls pass by your side
So many secrets whisper in your ear
There seems to be no end of it
No end of the woe and despair

There is happiness and luck
There is desire and love
The merry-go-round is full of life
Full of emotions and thoughts

I wonder how it never breaks down
Under that heavy loud
And always goes around
In the circles it makes on the ground.

Starting from the inception
And going through the phases
The beginning of the end melts into a pearl
When you have the chance to gather it
And go along with the whirl.