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I will leave no footprints
in the sand
as I will to walk away .

My past has led me here
and in my heart
I cannot stay .

I pass from more
than through all
the shades of gray .

I flee from all
my faults and fears
to the safety of possibilities

I leave you now
by these words
I will , I will , I will Away .
imagine
if the mountains
were not just layers
of soil
melted
metamorphosed
rock
the remnants of
volcanic fury

but sleeping giants
the kind you only hear about
in stories written
long ago
imagine what it would be like
if the mountains stood up

ripping away from the Mother
they've known
and the people
who depend.
what of the holes
their departure would leave?

can a mountain love me
like i love him?
tightly tucked between tectonic plates
is there a heart that yearns
to feel the sun
even closer still?
only the lonliest princess lived in the castle.
wandering,
from room to room....
but alas, no one else
lived there.

sometimes,
she thought she saw
someone in the garden

...but convinced herself
it was the wind...
            and stayed indoors.

only the the lonliesst
gardener boy
was left,
to tend the gardens,
overgrown, as they were.

sometimes,
he thought he saw some one in the windows of the castle

...but he could never be sure... so he stayed outdoors

so the days passed....
and the lonliest people
in the world lived, unknowingly,
within reach of each other.


and where was the
fairy-godmother...

...the one, who was meant
to put these lonely souls together....

she had gone to barbados
on holiday....
been hit by a falling coconut...
gotten amnesia
and was now making a living as waitress
...and wondering why
her back was itchy all the. time...
from where her wings
had retracted....
the moral.....
life does not always have a happy ending, stuff gets in the way...
or
...don't wait for someone else to create your happiness.
step outside your comfort zone and find it yourself.
Læs mine tanker,
stands dem, riv dem ud så jeg kan se, hvad jeg føler.
Klippe små huller,
mønstre der forvandler dem til ferskenblide kærtegn.
Sneen falder hysterisk fra himlen og lander ufrivilligt i min mund.
Ligegyldigheden lægger sig som tunge fjer for mit blik,
og jeg er bare -
Indhyllet i repetitionens storslåede pragt af forblødende sind,
der overses af snefnug og placebolykke.
Jeg lytter til melankoliens toner, der lægger sig sterilt i mit blod,
forsøger at rense det for alt der er mig; til der intet er tilbage.
Men jeg føler ingenting.
Kun en brændende stikken af forfrysningerne, der har bredt sig til alle mine organer, hvor det eneste, der pligtopfyldende fungerer,
er en pulserende hjerterytme, der magtesløs hvisker signaler om et synderknust indre.
Men væggene er for tykke og sneen for dyb
til at noget skulle kunne trænge igennem til omverdenens bedøvede trance.
E.V.
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