your brooks,
the solitude of your eyes,
the velvet of your hands,
the black woods against me
the thorns of desire passified
a downward flow of invisible fountains
the deceiving voices from the blue vastness
most dead, i bleed and wake up
waiting
like a lonely child on a holiday
with nothing to cling on to
and nothing to allure the stoneheart
no bird, no animal, no heaven.
the holy mysteries yet to come
from echos of the last pain
Light reminds me of
the joy of the shipwrecked
who landed safe on the land of love
and killed her very kindly and cried
as if he has done something wrong
the brooks
the solitude
the hands
the woods
i am still a slave
the solitude of your eyes,
the velvet of your hands,
the black woods against me
the thorns of desire passified
a downward flow of invisible fountains
the deceiving voices from the blue vastness
most dead, i bleed and wake up
waiting
like a lonely child on a holidaywith nothing to cling on to
and nothing to allure the stoneheart
no bird, no animal, no heaven.
the holy mysteries yet to come
from echos of the last pain
Light reminds me of
the joy of the shipwrecked
who landed safe on the land of love
and killed her very kindly and cried
as if he has done something wrong
the brooks
the solitude
the hands
the woods
i am still a slave
