Tessa IV

Burying the mill deep inside the fire of the sun, solar winds
blazing flames high and low to keep me alive, just enough.
Half way you are near and far, with the whole world listening.
What's this new message about the Dutch windmill? She was
illumination from Mars, and I crashed millions of years across

the blue sky of lost gospels and hymns, do you know? Do I
need a second chance of change? A sharper corner into your
secret blade, but perhaps too late and I won't even know.
What do people do for love beside homicide? Money is bigger
in these eyes, yours and everybody elses. The windmill is still

burning slow, ending the story of my real time. But I am
patient and I will have another life, if she won't be my long
lost daughter. White rose of my grave, in this German myth,
is making me speechless. Innocent bystander standing by
the sun and watching how fast a wooden mill can turn to ashes.