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Step by step,
bit by bit,
seen unseen
unknowing shape.

Concepts in rebuild
reconstruct what has fallen.

Come on,
let in some fresh air.
No need to be afraid
the same dark chants drift by.

Change resonance.
There is a chance
for a new beginning.
Sometimes I sit
on this mountain
avoiding my reflection,
until my mind becomes
a mirror of memories,
I am close enough to
the sun to call her a friend.
Mixed emotions swirl
in the night sky as they
always have done,
at times the stars look sad
like distant cities and the
moon with its many faces
so desperately wanting
to be loved. I will stay here
until the angry wind blows
away these heavy clouds,
and my beard has grown
long and grey, I will walk
down this mountain wild eyed!
enlightened, insane!
like a bible story
like a wounded animal
washed clean - free of all sin,
ready to congregate again
in the warm embrace of
simple poetry …
Clay.M
I guess it’s the way
you look out of windows
on cold blue mornings
that leave me speechless,
the way you speak quietly
almost like a prayer,
your questions do not
require a single answer.
I am happy to remain
silent in my observations,
I am happy that nature is
the companion of intelligence,
I do not call society my friend,
I am the master of my own
bewilderment …
Clay.M
Sometimes I keep
the curtains closed
I don’t want to see
the day or listen
to its violence,
I plant flowers in
dark corners,
I plant flowers where
the old ones have
passed sway,
I know there is a
reason for soft music,
I welcome the gentle
waves of consolation,
I hear poetry in the
slow movement of time …
Clay.M
In the glow of distant
lights, in the tangled
mess of all that is
unreachable, I listen
to the shooting stars
I am deafened by the
hum of sad melodies,
I see the half moon
swing in the shadow
of a broken heart, I will
go to places where drunk
poets are wrapped in smoke
and absurd isolation,
where women dance with
painted smiles and blue fire
and call it love, I will go to
places where silence fills
the air with beautiful stories,
I will go where madness
is too afraid to follow …
Clay.M
I was on a train from
Paris to Amsterdam
and with an empty page
a sad smile and a pen
she was looking out
the window across
the apple green fields and
into the valleys of cobbled
villages and ****** churches
and as the dead air of Paris
was leaving my mind
I began to read the reflection
of questions in her eyes
I wanted to tell her what
she already knew
that the answers are in
the rhythm of the rails
and to only underline
the words that matter ...
Clay.M
Repost
This world grows in me—
stone and root,
water bending like sorrow—
the river rises,
catching smooth stones,
carrying all that has been broken.

She spills—
cunning as a courtesan,
her movements deliberate—
a quiet confidence in every curve,
never losing herself.

Her hands shape the world she touches—
soft enough to cradle,
brave enough to let go.

The mountain pauses—
a quiet thinker.
Each step is careful,
his resolve etched in stone,
teaching me to belong—
to stand firm.
Even when the wind cuts,
even when the world
shivers beneath me.

And the forest—
ancestral,
speaks of skies torn apart,
alive with things
I’ve never seen before—
its roots speak softly,
a quiet inheritance of strength.
It whispers of lives lived long gone—
a story written in every leaf,
a hand outstretched
from every branch,
reminding me—

I am their breath,
their silence, their strength—
through stone and root,
water and sky,
this world grows within me—

I am not alone—
none of us are.
The river is my mother,
the mountain is my father,
the ancestral forest, my grandparents...
and I, their breath.
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