The thoughts can unexpectedly relax
disturb your peace and make you lose your way
so soft and scorching as the melting wax
so cold and hard as torment you delay
Afraid to explore
the layers of gore
in fear of uncertainty
lost inside myself
afraid to touch sleeping volcano
on border between the worlds,
not knowing which side to make a step
balancing hardly exhausted and weak
walking the waves as the stones
blades of the cliffs
Carving the name forbidden to pronounce
whoever you are –
don’t give a reply
best sign to rely
is that you are outa this world
drag me through hell
holding my hand
I will never decide
sea foam will wash away strange symbols on the sand
but through the hands their rain will be flowing
burning and renovating the strengths
unknown are purified by unknowing
by studying – spoiled…or twice purified
half sleep with no dreams
deceptive safety of the sloth
much worse than safety of the grave
when you do really have no choice
they flare aside me like under the glass
like in the changeable kaleidoscope
dreamy conditions engage and pass
giving and taking away then the hope
was it the substance that covered me all over
or now my mind’s covered with veil not letting me feel the taste?
but when the autumn comes I believe some unknown spirits
Enchant me coming into material space
“the empty do not dream of something more,
They are contended with the flesh”
If you have closed after me the door
It doesn't mean I'm ready to confess
from open wounds the blood easily flows
however its way’s so messy
It stays no longer than dew
you know, moving to picture too close
is not a good point of view
Try
To forget that face
Share between the ways
In the labyrinth of eternity
To replace with facts
Only that connects
Me with this unwise reality
I'm alone from now
Like a scarecrow
On the field deprived of grass and weed
Skies
As the crow flies
Raining sharpened knives
And the soul bleeds
Fingers in the scorching wax
Time to pay the tax
In the name of god of Underworld
Try to recognize
Where the sun will rise
Cross again is risen as a sword
in previous good old times the folks
to nature closer were much more
Dunno if it is true but I know clearly
In my childhood I was closer to her
And then your eyes are still covered with gore
as the crow flies,
the seasons change
the living dies
it’s so natural
has to be
inside of me…
so, future must be worryingly haunted
just as a house built on ex burial ground
ghosts wouldn’t leave, showing the road and making you lost
homebound
as the house continues to crumble down