At twilight, past a glistening day

he is going back home

slowly shattering behind

the steep crests of the mountain,

his scorching blaze

piercing through the woods

leached out moisture

till the very last drop,

breaking through the mists

and fogs and clouds

he made a new way

through no one’s allowed,

now past his swing

from the east to the west

he’s shuffling back stilly

to let the moon annex,

underneath the dark

Is he gaining strength?

to rise up with the Aurora

or is he all drained?

the time he was down

few posited, he resigned

from the arduous courage

he always had shone,

but, without a word

he is back to the blue

to let the horizons meet

to let it be a new dawn,

he is the covert ardor

of every dark night….

he is the ace of spheres

“the brightest star”

Footsteps echoing the jungle's mud;

Jumping and climbing in midnight's twilight

The creature longed for vermilion blood;

But all it found was a fanged sprite



The new moon descends upon the dark;

The white wolf sprints and splits the night

It stops to run and starts to bark;

To a yellow-eyed that breaks the light



The two fairy tales come to life;

Growling under celestial eclipse

Will either of them manage to survive;

To a century old apocalypse



The trees fall down, rivers run red;

The fight is fierce, it breaks the dawn

So it ends with a bloodshed;

As finally the two has long been gone

floating in a sea of falling snowflakes,
the bitter cold entwines to me so pleasantly.
a soul starts sinking to such bitter mistakes,
life is a graceful tidal wave of unpredictable misery.

eyes closed,
untouched within,
the outside is always open
the gentle breeze invites itself in.

hearts break from this safe haven like wildfire,
all the pieces scatter on the delicate cold surface.
air tightens when walking this irrational frozen wire,
hot and cold swirl together as we resurface.

feet lifted,
mellow pace,
ashes from the winter air appear in our place.

paint drips in the snow like a delicate snow-angel made of glass,
it's intentions are vivid though it's presence seemed colorless,
insides fill like watercolor into the true colors of a canvass,
eyes brighten deep to gaze into the soul filled with new purpose
.
the canvas has been watered,
paint drops down our skin.
art appears,
our hearts start to fill in.

colors brighten,
the center darkens.
the canvas gives new life,
hearts are not forgotten.