winter holidays and you become snow
between glaciers and silver towers
among apes, wizards and goons
you become snow in the winter

as you turn into what you dread
as you turn into this being
a viking, werewolf, you name it
may the games begin, you may die

beneath the surface of your dreams
beneath red heavens and families
in times of hunger, you stay focussed
you become snow in the winter

as you turn into another, an: other
snow is flooding the news flash
sinners, brothers and sisters
burning sandstorms, playful twisters

elijah's path is covered with thorns
roses **** the innocent and they cry
wild roses turn into winter snow
raise your head, watchin' them grow

clocks, the same time, worldwide
remember the oaths of the old ones
remember them praying in the snow

...and turn into this being

When lost in giant thoughts
and mumbling lips don’t hear
how divine prayers fall
on puppets on the walls
In vain you pour your soul,
Is all in vain, my man!

When darkness bends the light
and you hide from y’own eyes
and you run from y’own voice
and force the cogit shut its door,
In vain you pour your soul,
Is all in vain, my man!

When lazy sky transforms
the clouds into boomerangs
and crippled stars pretend
to be white angels of your lies,
in vain you pour your soul,
Is all in vain, my man!

When houses are cold
and candles are not burning
and tears are pervert actors
that never listen to the silver bell,
In vain you pour your soul,
Is all in vain, my man!

Steadfast
And arriving in bared eyes, to darken a room
Curious over the name of a voice that has
The time, with a risk to turn long looks, of doom...

Into a vanity of sorts
The walking upheaval or the heed of a share
We find too much more than a pace of distance, and mores
Of a clash with sincerity that has the look of simple care

Wall's, begins the voice
Have two names for it, et. al.
Heroine, we see your destiny, the total of choice
Made to order and select its own, as if flowers predict well

Dourly, the notion of implied faces, and their new nature
Of a waiting star, some were about, some were now
Some were a hero, to know seldom with a such, a curiosity
In the spare tastes and freedoms we make a romance, so how...

Turns of light into a sharing heart?
The sacred in a wondering heat, is a creation to view a need
With the solemn, to say with a new voice, shall and part
Let the day save its wealth in our hands, the person and the deed

Beauty so let, daring a legend
Have a soul for a second, something to do...
With a season to say when, a here after in tradition
Is our blessing come from the beginning, we knew...

barn swallows take wing
cobalt streaks in the gray sky
over fields they fly

The lure of gold brought Fifty-Niner’s in droves
     to the Kansas-Nebraska territory
laden with packs, picks, pans and shovels -
      hell-bound for adventure and facile wealth.

Placer miners squatted beside frigid streams,
    dipping their pans and filling their sacks
with nuggets bound for the assayer's verdict.

Mine towns sprang up where the veins were strong.
    In ******* Creek, Leadville, Independence and Central City,
the valleys rang with the strident cacaphony of
     drills and explosives - burrowing shafts deep
into the ore-rich valleys and mountain slopes.

Headlamps lit and shadowed mazes of timbered tunnels
     where men piled rock high into mine cars
headed for the mammoth crushers at Idaho Springs.

Whiskey freely flowed in saloons and hotels
     where raucous miners let off steam with
every mode and cast of ***** talk pleasures

In time, the veins were spent and profits dwindled.
     When the drama ended and the curtain fell,
the miners vanished - leaving only ghost towns behind
      and a new state named for its reddish river – Colorado.