A silver second
has just fallen to the ground
and the whole world now trembles
with pleasure.

Time stopped
as does it at times like this one.

A single tear
drops from the lover's eye
for the moment's been the most blissful thing ever.

It's gone now, though,
it passed and will never be repeated,
lost in dreams, and in the streams and whirls of time,
striving to endure, to survive,
hoping to transmute into a memory.

A thin beam of light in the night,
born in the lamp beside me,
glitters and blinds my sight;

and the full brightness shades,
when I look thought it, the walls of the room
behind the shinning, behind my little moon.

For the place is not lightened
but what should have been brightened
is caught in the dimness's embrace.

Darkening even more its face
when solving the problem yourself hates...
That's a shadow of light for me.

There is winter in the air,
and its unnoticeable presence
makes its way into the world of the obvious
to reveal that it has always been there.

And, in the approach to a non-existing summer,
the mind is to awake,
for all that it knows is as fake
as the mask concealing the countenance.

Like a statue of time,
the immutable remains a-changing,
for it is in its nature, not ageing,
with no jury to judge this will.

Then, in the end, again
we'll turn our heads and gaze at winter
and fathom that it does not vanish nor fade,
in a continuous existence and uncertain fate,
cause the truth is there's no winter.

I'll try to find my love this year,
I'll try to make the spark appear,
and while I'm writing these short lines...
"Does she want to be mine?"
Though now there aren't worries, my heartbeat's steady,
I only hope that in the moment I'll find myself ready.

It's hard to believe that sometimes people despise it,
the feeling of two lovers to each other attracted.
Yes, it's true! You can and you may suffer!
And that can make love look and seem much tougher,
But it's like the old saying: no pain, no gain,
that's why I can't wait to fall in love again.

When you finish,
keep quiet,
enjoy the moment of
silence.

When inspiration leaves,
leaves falling from a yellow-wood in fall;
you feel your hands freeze,
you fell your life halt.

It's the winter of the mind,
just surviving, existing,
not living but believing
that so is life, being soul blind.

The expectancy for the rising sun,
the endless wait for the muses to come
back from wherever they are hiding,
or perhaps, away from me they are flying.

When inspiration comes...
soldiers returning home,
not only welcomed yet being longed for.
Inspiration is the end of thought war.

Ecstasy, euphoria, catharsis,
the world moves, it quits from stasis.
And from the depths of the blackest darkness,
its light brightens, shines and rises.