The ticking Needle

Heard again
Is the sound
Of the ticking needle
It’s the man
That rebounds
Breathing and alive

Looking then
Deep profound
Subdued and defeated
Now he stands
On a ground
Of challenging strives


Uncertain Path

It is no longer love
That shores up the mountains
It is not emotions
That trouble the mind

The train runs above
A path so uncertain
Forsake all devotion
In a past left behind

It is the peace of old days
That misses the forest
No storms of winter
Can worry the land

In so many ways
Can the seeds we harvest
Like the tip of a dagger
Make bleed our own hand



Never unannounced
Does she come
To the dwelling hearts

Never in surprise
Did happen
Her arrival

Trusting the sound
That is feared by some
Spreading her scaring art

On those who surmise
To relinquish heaven
For survival

Death comes to all livings
Since ever has there been winter
Only honour survives the ending
By the one who comes in terror


Hawk of Shadows

Hawk of the shadows
That flew lines
Of my history

Bird without flows
Drink the wine
Of my memory

The past that I know
To be mine
My mystery

No longer is hidden
In the forest that shine



Lights that have passed
Like ghosts through me
Sawing on the path
Of my life wicked smiles

Days that were cast
In the river of memories
No longer my grasp
Defeats the course of time

Might is gone
Like the whisper of shadows
Now I’m alone
Forsaken in the borrows
Waiting in despair
For my buss to come


Vibes of the Past

Waiting for time
To soften the pain
Hoping that spring
May flourish the forest

In the heart of mine
Certainty gained
No bird can bring
The end of the winter

The river that brought
The joy to the swimmers
Is icy and cold
Forever bitter

Gone the old days
Of birds and butterflies
Lost is the way
In the void of the wild



Here does she come
Steps with no sounds
No more time to run
Spare beating the ground

Destiny has come at last
No more future only past
Memories haunting the wild
The innocent heart of a child

The ice is no more
Cold on the shore
The feel is lost
Dead are the fingers
No life will sore
Out of this door
The bed that host
The body that lingers

Is only the witness
Of what is not there anymore



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