A strange thought in a night which
breaks with the loneliness come forth
from togetherness, one ness. A cosmos of a
fragmentary manifestation, split into countless
mirror shards, of which one shoots through my
heart. In nocturnal days and illuminating darknesses
finally a depth was found again which
seemed so unacquired; that love could not be far
away, but here, waiting to dawn.
Hearts that steal and souls who rob, people
of their glee. In between that all sat still, an island,
by choice untouched with eager hands. For he
had not sought them out himself. But one day, with a silence
which could be so roaring and deceiving, a frail
soul, that made overtures to a burning devil was set
aflame herself. Yet, she is afraid now to be
extinguished before she could have raged. When her
eyes tell what her mouth cannot; his and that
dreadful gentle look, not knowing, and lips seeking out
a heart that bleeds. But a small tear, but one which
will pull open and gush, tears of both sadness and
joy, that a not discussed secret could stir
her, and at the same time surely could affirm, that her heart
hadn’t died down, but felt just as much as a
flower which only just bloomed.
© 2005
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC
A strange thought in a night which
breaks with the loneliness come forth
from togetherness, one ness. A cosmos of a
fragmentary manifestation, split into countless
mirror shards, of which one shoots through my
heart. In nocturnal days and illuminating darknesses
finally a depth was found again which
seemed so unacquired; that love could not be far
away, but here, waiting to dawn.
Hearts that steal and souls who rob, people
of their glee. In between that all sat still, an island,
by choice untouched with eager hands. For he
had not sought them out himself. But one day, with a silence
which could be so roaring and deceiving, a frail
soul, that made overtures to a burning devil was set
aflame herself. Yet, she is afraid now to be
extinguished before she could have raged. When her
eyes tell what her mouth cannot; his and that
dreadful gentle look, not knowing, and lips seeking out
a heart that bleeds. But a small tear, but one which
will pull open and gush, tears of both sadness and
joy, that a not discussed secret could stir
her, and at the same time surely could affirm, that her heart
hadn’t died down, but felt just as much as a
flower which only just bloomed.
© 2005
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