As sleep slips over,
Whilst muscles melt unmoving
Snow drifts rising slowly
Doorways disappearing,
I watched idle hours pass
Just hoping you'd return .
---------------------------------------------------------
The­ afterglow gone
The days short/stars dim seemingly/this is only January

A gentle thaw starts/cloud formation broken as/
cold ground soften slowly

In between seasons/march in the middle/
easter around the corner

----------------------------------------—----------------­-----------
through out the evening
the sea swelled seemingly
brimming saying something
sailors staring  safe inside
communication cut
the snow white foam made landfall
salt smelling scene
before them

Sometimes I wonder if all my dreams will come true
Because I am sure that this is possible
I am always surprised about life
Like a little child who every day rises
And I hope that God will have opened up his light
Before the evil can hit my dreams.
I am counting upon my thoughts as I am thinking of you
Certainly I am prepared to die at any time
And really ready to live
And I expect nothing in life but the Truth.
I intend to open myself up to the world,
To breathe, and to win
I know indeed everything what I intend to do,
But stronger than all my afterthoughts is my fury,
Fury that brings upon the greatest love.
I pretend that everything is wonderful.
And I pretend that
I'm not crying when tears are bleeding down my face.
And I prefer the absurdity of writing poems.
I am who I am
And nothing can change me.

In summer, a valley so green, thick in veridian
a pond looking on, sits atop the world - waiting for no one
The sun through an open window, so soon to be gone
hills above, some days ago
covered in whitest snow

Paintings, closets buried deep - she cannot escape
rustic paint peels from long forgotten faces
in faded works, her tears of tattered pages
that silent sleep, with wings they weep
and long to fly, far from
lonesome cages

A stand of oaks, ringing round in summer leaves of grassy greens
twisty branches quivering light in wind's of dusky breeze
Beyond this sky of crimson day, far awaits a starry field to bloom
and melts the sun into black
swift before the moon

Today all the linden trees shrouded in black, no flowers only death, so quiet crept
killing summer bees, that can no longer sing - of honey flowers afield
death crying at the door, their silence praying to be heard
and still unthinking man poisons our fragile world

The lead ideas fell on a field as voices
coming from a bad dream. The yellow
of the daisies became sharper than the
serpents’ teeth, and the fragrant sun

started to tremble in the wind. The ideas
would fall into a silent abysm, but they
have become as hard as those boulders
falling to hit people and to ****** their

reality. I am talking about those newcomers
picking the flowers and having injured
smiles. It looked like the life was destroying
itself under a predefined set of circumstances.

Those people had  ghostly, spectral feelings.
Those feelings began to grow into the Light of
God, Who has started to reconcile all things
to Himself through His Embodied Word.