watermarked

Play me a fool, for I am him,
That cries to yield, yet fears to feel…
Jest of sadness, unrips the mask
And mouths tell tale, of silence in him.

Yes! You may call me blind,
Yet, what I do see, lives only in light
And there within, my heart beats.
Bark these years, and come to me!

And a fool, once lain dead, sought a crusade
As heyday, to fight wind, and mills grey.

“Oh the lady of light, which on my, makes salvage,
A spear in heart, bevels this page.
Scribes my tablet with age
Of old Sun that came down,
Like the shadow’s slope,
Darken my beverage.

And yet, empty is this cup,
On whose bottom thou standst
Prophesied from forgotten past.”

Many ways lain, yet none so sane
And alone He walks, even with cane.
His spear by his side, never resides,
Yet shakes with tatters on his chest.

As now, a middle-aged man
Came to pond to wash his hands;
Recalls his faults upon the waves;
And in darkness of moonlight he tells:

“What daemon pursues me,
Waylays my pace,
Whereon comes he, He who beats in me?
Dared I thought him dead,
And soon I would renounce him,
Yet with pitter-patter she comes,
Cloaked with dark and red mask.
And as anticipation in the air fades to gray,
Cos’ I dare not trust an empty heart,
Which suddenly beats like train,
Somehow I do remember this song…”

The light came up, as Sun on stage,
But still the poplars pined away,
With wind-bells, the roses withered;
They sought pristine, late Sun’s gleam.
Long the darkness reign’d thither
Until the wanderer got the spear.

“Hear me Gods, on my way move hither,
What is this curse my soul riddles,
Upon where the old ravens wear the masque of heavens?
Out of bleakest night comes, what once came to be….
An entity of despise, it hates all my days of life,
Those long hours I wore lonely…

I prayed! Reminiscence my words lost to gray!
I prayed, oh Merciful, not to see again,
The destroyer of high towers…

Give me a tool, to pluck my sorrows,
So I could fight with my own blight,
Upon that hill, where my curse follows me still,
Upon that daemon, where clocks turn ill,
Upon my muscle-beat, which bears no will…

I tried! I tried! I tried!
I tried to make my eyes white,
By gazing into abyss, for emptiness my heart to eat.
I tried to rip my bones from out of my carcass,
I tried to feast upon my own beliefs!
All hope I shackled and tangled I cast,
I pulled out her silence with my own tongue,
And blinded sat in corner of passage.
Waiting for the lady of cold touch.
My nails in flesh did inscribed, how I yearned for a kiss,
And still tattered and curled into nothing,
My mouths dried, waiting for an exit.
And it seemed…

And it seemed, the silence beneath the abyss;
The clouds upon it; darkness that befell me;
That none of it would ever break the screen.”

Yet the Sun came, mostly like a gentle breeze,
The warmth he felt, fell deep in,
The shadows of past, past him blithely
As the memory unwinds: the journey.
Bold fool, betook his pen and deprived it’s sane,
And sought a fight, to fight in vain;
He sought a way, to turn the wheel,
A spell, to turn the word of evil,
That echoes Halls of Time still…
And somewhere deep within,
He forgot his prime motif.

The nay-say took another shape,
It cloaked itself with people in sand-glass.
How does the snake bears thousand faces,
That which, but one, poisons our hearts,
and carries her doom to our old age?

When does the pain stops?
Not until the stone loses it’s weight.
But there his soul slight, and eyes bright
Gazed upon sunrise, of his own life.
Deep into sunlight, something beyond torches light.
And with irresistible smile,
shapeless words, shape the world from his heart:

„The sun came with merit, spread it’s beams,
It beheld mire within, and blossomed it.
For a rose roses, and all the thorns I caught,
Stemmed my love from being told.

Upon that sky, where your eyes I hold,
Spreads the strangefull beam, of which I do not know,
Yet, the dead inside my heart still, act like they know;

It is the carving, -molding man, that cannot be said;
It is what melts the way, when sweet lips strike the air.

Oh but thine loving eyes must never perish,
Lest this world shall be turned to grey;
Lest the bottomless absence strike out cherished,
Lest world with roses wither away.

I do hold my love for thee, oh dear mountain,
which in stream melts the snow, glimmering, sparkling;
and even though in your pond, below swans,
I do catch a ghastly ghost with face I loe,
Seems so aerie, when reverberation on water carried,
cos’ my hand yearned to touch it,
yet felt only frost.
How did I ’came this? Wherefore broken joss?

I was a soldier; swaying sword, seems so heavy,
Playing but what I was mold for,
Yet, only slightly knocking at the doors,
never trusting anybody would open up.
But therein, came she, anointing.
And in my own glee, she actually did nothing!
These wretched strings played symphony of all,
This bottomless need, encarved life whole.
She didn’t even exist’.
There she strayed, a puppet sole,
with a faceless grin, a girl with mole.
-she utter’d something.
But to these ill’d ears, that did not hear,
Eyes have spanned a planar gift.

Celestial descend, or a girl ascend,
Lonely sword-boy, didn’t cared,
All He ever knew, is what He felt somehow,
’Cos in her eyes, he caught reflection of his,
In her acts, he felt like he did it;
And scared was he - the most lonely,
Looking on this reflection of his sky in his abyss.

And then no utterance, no movement,
The ground beneath his feet showed a strange mark,
In his hands, athame drew a blooded star. Hark!
Four winds around the Moon, Sun, Earth, and Stars
Gathered upon him, drawing down the moon.
Dampened his senses, yet the hand controlled by essence,
He didn't felt the presence, nor saw the birth
Just threwn upon porch, whereof path starts.
Deja vu upon a journeyman’s eyes,
This sword-boy walks a circle long,
Just to be entrapped by different shapes of same song.

Since then, He pledged Moon to the sky
His grasp to crave for, but on sky to slide...
That alone is enough to keep him waken on many a lonely night.

Hasn’t no one told him yet, blunt edges, and the rust upon his head?
Sorrow is the word he dares not say,
As he stands in front of mirror, gazes upon moss and haze
that have curled upon his crest, yet he sees none
but the shiniest of gold and plate.

And on his crest, he prays to be setted down,
yet cannot reside steadily by the river,
cos in his chest lives a soul of his sword,
which with zest plies the fiber of his gown.

Such, in curse of love, love procreates herself,
Holding man as shield, with love man shields himself,
Even through eyes her poison courses,
Deluding reason, calling upon „old forces“
Making man’s tongue her knave,
Fragile to one, as this stave.

I never did saw the universe, in it’s spirally shape,
I never did saw it move, and savour inane;
forever coiling upon a point,
I don’t believe he favours my ken
when I, from my past, sense him here, there,
It matters not, because it’s form splatters
and gathers upon your smile,
to endow my pain.

I walked a circle long, waylaid sun to reach the hands
that turned my path, that turned the globe.
but the tired hands still grasp the mark,
that failure to rise above has left
encarved upon my heart.

It is my fate, to bear it,
fate I make from what my fate is,
It is everything I know, and thus I am trapped by it,
And all things I will know, are poured through it,
Upon it’s edges are carved my words,
Greenish, poisoned, as the mouths they come from,
I cried upon sky,beseeched a tool from gods,
yet the sorrow gave purpose it’s rise,
and thus the sword in my hand writes...

With a many strangeful glow,
many destinies fall upon it’s point,
where pierced they bleed on paper,
each different, but in one colour, one tone,
they all fall together poisoned by his song.

I’ve cried for help to my friends,
The only ones I didn’t cut with my words,
Tisn’t they held no help, yet,
Their hands were too gentle
for such a sharp sword.

For a time, it came all to clear:
All these empty words of wisdom
His ears yearned to hear,
Could not co-exist with his own,
As this role of jest riddles jest itself
As long as all he hopes for
is this craving for hope, which holds him strong.

Lay all the swords on ground!
Plant them as the cross with whom you’ll measure the sun,
Shades of the lady – all earth breathes for
Are sieved, deprived of humane faults,
And molded unto the handle of my sword,
Which now I lay on ground,
because the fluency of it’s spirit,
Is what makes this, my ordeal.

It isn’t the sky, it is the sea
Whereof rain comes from, and returns bluntly
Shaped in new forms, but with one same old point,
It strikes the surface so hardly
The surface of it’s own.
Likewise, my love, more further it travels
Strongest when farthest –
- the yearning, the craving, the hope,
It surley kills me, when returns
Driven by inertia much to strong to hold off.

Lay all the swords to the ground!
I now must leave, this cherished garden,
forsake the seeds I planted,
unto this ground I hallowed.
All these busts, golden rusted leaves,
Paths winding adorned with Sun setting,
Yew forest, with whom I was nourished,
They all to early came down,
Into the spirally abyss.

He thought that Love made,
Guided his hands, led him to war
To a battlefields of all lost,
And none reclaimed hope.
Realizing the winds stripping him,
And still finding the force that surges
And drives his feet,
He felt the Love behind him,
Pushing him, blindly pushing him,
To the ledge of hope (all there is).

He soon came to hate his hands,
And all that glassy sculptures
In which he saw his reflection,
He tore down, finding self all to disgusting
Because he saw himself behind him,
A mutant of shapeless form,
Without hands, eyes, mouths or nose,
All that he ever was, a cancer on word: Love.

And there He was, right there, shedding his skin,
Constantly searching for something
That He wasn’t.
Craving for what he must not hold.

Did He found himself writing to someone
Who cannot reply?
A letter to his Joss?


I’ve treaded steps of stone, even with my bare hands,
greeted the man on mountain, drank from his cup;
inspite the sand in glass, of light are weary my eyes,
And richness of this world do not pass me,
Instead they come to me, with their own true light.

Thus, in few days of my life, I’ve heard of the moon’s song
Talked with my father – the sun, swam with rainbow
Upon the sky, breathed air, became it’s son,
And felt the unbareable lightness of existance of your smile.
And yet came no wiser on the ground,
no wiser than the man who hits the rock, no wiser at all.

Thus, you must know what I’ve found, all along:
It is your fear, you’ve told me about
That longest night, when I spoke to my God.

I’ve traversed all realms,
And even the one in which you yourself has hid
From your fear.

I saw, and in my hands held what made you,
My Love, my life,my God.
You are nothing, desiring a form.
And nothing I am now abdicating.

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