Wanneer het ek die ses maande uitruil program en die arktiese nagskfof aanvaar?

My horlosie het gaan stilstaan in laat nag - donkernag.
My lot op die muur , 'n kraak in die wal...
die spervuur van eros wat rondom my val...
dis al ; dis al - dis al.

I confess of my heart
to the waves in the sea
and roar with breaking waters
as they celebrate with me.

I dance through secret gardens
of lust and luscious greens
as we consider the what if's
and what might have been's.

I cast all my worried thoughts
into the celestial deep
before I lovingly glance up
at the stars and fall asleep...

lastly I wait , for an eternity
it would seem
until finally I find myself
in something better than a dream.

The late afternoon sun
peeks worriedly through the window
, too afraid to touch the bed
on which I lie
living , next to the dead.

He breaths faintly
, a whispered ghost
morbidly fatigued by
the loneliness he chokes on.

Every breath is a lifetime
and this immortal man
has died like the old gods
over and over again.

His bones rattle as his
spirit tirelessly shakes
and shudders in the cold
of his heart.

Although sweat poured
out of every overheated part
of his broken body...
I could see winter
on the horizon of
his faded eyes.

That is when I knew
that summer never came
over the thresholds of
such a broken life.

And inside his soul gave up
playing his ribs like
an anxious xylophone.

Summer never came,
but I fear winter
is in fact
closer to it's inevitable absence.

But do you know , he said
as if it was the wind through my hair
or the cold on my cheek.

How could I know, I thought.
How could I know that
death kisses like a *******
lips laced with *******.

How could I know that darkness
is such a sweet seductress
who suckles the broken
with her baring *******.

No one ever stopped
to educate the youth.
They threw books at our heads
and like a mighty god
playing the role of a very disagreeable child...

nobody told us that porcelain
hits the ground with the same
sensual satisfaction
of a broken man,
painting the walls red
with a white eyed glaze
and a bullet in his brains.

Death becomes him,
and he will wear it like a king.

Long lives the ******* king,
but I never truly knew.

Is moeilik om te begryp,
en nie rerig mooi nie.
Dis 'n spoegspat soos 'n herrie-
'n gemmors wat langs die kar staan en bedel.

Dis 'n gemoedsbekakking... ag verskoon tog
verswakking soos die breakdowns innie gossip magazine.
Ag shame , hulle dra ook maar swaar aan society se crimes
en al dai drugs is maar ommie pyn te verlig.

Kyk nounet daar , sterre wat pyn , is seker maar
'n metafoor. Vir wat? Se jy my!
Jy wat my analiseer en dissekteer...
want daar is geen meer sterre wat pyn nie,
die woorde wat rym ennie
ander goeie goed is lankal van alle kleur bevry
in my agterkop waar dit donker is soos
'n land waar hoop 'n feeverhaal is.

Dis te donker om nou te rym,
maar te donker om in te hou...
so ek sny maar die kanker stuk vir stuk uit
en bloei nonsens-ink op die blaai.

Aan die einde is dit nie net die gedig nie.
Dis die ganse wereld wat rym.
Elke herrie en spoegspatter
elke gerookte ster en hartseer kokkedoor
ek , jy - ons almal is 'n gedig.
Ons almal rym...
ons is net te moeilik om te verstaan
en nie altyd mooi nie.

Yster slyp yster
en staal omhels
in n magtige bymekaarkoms

Die twee spoed monsters
om mekaargevou,
maak liefde, om die trane en seer

Daar was geen flitse
in die donker nag nie
tyd het stil gestaan
maar die hartseer gaan aan.

Yster slyp yster
en dank die Vader
die ronde oe bevat nog kleur
en die gapende monde vloek my

Yster slyp yster
maar my seer is gespaar
vir n ander dag
en 'n ander pad.

Wat skryf die hand?
Wat skryf die pen?
In 'n kunste swyg
wat ek so goed herken.

*** loop die sinne
uit in 'n meesterstuk,
wanneer die muse
aan my stiltes verstik?

*** skep ek weer skrywes
wat mense laat wroeg,
sonder die hartseer
en met al hierdie moeg?

*** laat ek my digters tong
luiters in die oopgraf in
met 'n hand vol liefde
raak my siel weer blind.

Waar kom my ritme en passie vandaan
, maar beter nog, met die koms van geluk
... waar het dit heen gegaan?