late november days
always catch me by surprise anew
when everything seems lost
cold, wind and fog
rain and abysmal darkness
suddenly brilliant sunshine laughs
in spring skies
Untitled
time stopped moving in the garden of silence
sun's tenderness on my back
in my closed eyes threads of gold
tainted greenish brown;
winter, death, hides
in the cracks and crevices
behind the facade of chirping birds
and the innocent gust of autumn
gathers strength for the last great
charge
Untitled
cold
an eyeful of gray
big wave clouds close in for the charge
and fog tightens the siege
the soul is wrapped in down
like a kernel in the blackness of the earth
to sleep
to dream a distant spring
Untitled
song of a blackbird before dawn
like the caress of a warm flute river
a distant bus
heads for invisible districts of love
hidden in the warm blanket
like in the womb of a mother who is not there
for one last moment of grace
in just a little bit I'll emerge
into the world of cold and hate