And every silence becomes a spectator,
of such a sorry display of refusal.
Their voiceless hardness is slowly,
ever so slowly, eating away at our sanity.

For silences are never alone.
Too quickly joined by symbionts,
death bringers and half-truths.

And the voices of these personaes,
so true they ring,
telling you you’re right,
telling me I’m wrong,
telling them they’re strong,
telling him he’s polite,
telling her the distance is wanted,
telling him he’s haunted.

By shadows past,
and feelings lost,
favoured heart, you’re letting it all be eaten,
digested, processed and forgotten.

And all because a crushing silence breaks more
surely than a true word ever could.

There are not enough words in any language to tell how you’ll see,
how you’ll grow and where you’ll land,
where your grace will spread into the brightest wings of human kind,
who you will touch and who will let themselves be touched by you.

So much, so less. So true.

If ever there was truth to be had in existence
alone: you’ll be its peak.
A life that once might be shared and truly lived,
protected, held and cherished.
In a new world. A new mind, a new me.

My beautiful child.

The sweet grass bends in anticipation beneath my barren feet,
Somewhere a dead leaf is floating toward the earth,
and here… a sunbeam is crying it’s last glowing tear in my hand.

My heart so full, my words so empty.

I’ve drawn out my soul, pulled out every vein of every feeling,
ripped every shard of every nerve,
every break of every drawn out silence.

In the end I cut out these eyes that were supposed to see so far.

Clap my wings and fly away,
to nothingness and everlasting morning light.

Let me see this end for l am destined to stay
because there is nothing else,
because there is only this… final understanding:
we become the one thing we want to avoid the most,
no matter how many prayers,
no matter how many hours,
how much love, how much heart or conquest.

In the end we’re just another wolf feeding on someone else’s cadavers.
So take your teeth to some other liver, your claws to another lightbearer,
I am all but dead, all but empty, all but used and torn.

This night is not my last, but it truly is my longest.

I’ve had bits and pieces of this for a long while waiting in my notebook. Scattered, really. The first few lines that seem so out of tune with the rest for instance are a couple of months old written on my way to work. In the end, every piece is a journey, a projection. The true sense is only revealed when you reread the title after the poem. It’s a confusing piece and yet, I know exactly what every contrasting picture means.

Shine your light, my heart,
drop your fears,
done your honour and your pride,
armour your eyes,
cast down the dreary pains,
and step out to shine your divine glow.

Don’t leave me yet, the day is not along,
our path here is not yet done,
your heart is not yet gone.

Touching your skin with cold fingers,
the sweetest sorrow of all,
pouring itself into every fibre of our being,
and wasting away the fine border that separates the you from the me,
the worst emotions from the best ones,
the hardest memories from the brightest ones,
the bitter moments from the joyful ones.

There is so much life here,
so much future in every cell and move,
so much love, it could not be contained.

My fingers’ trace is followed by my tears,
for love’s constant yearning which cannot ever be satisfied,
for lovers lost in hardship,
for death in all it’s disguises.

Your skin grows colder and colder under my hand now,
and outside the dawn is breaking…

Feeling the loss of a thing you never had,
every day, every hour of every passing moment,
breathing in your every move,
weighing on every look turned to the future,
turned to the solid grounds,
turned to everyone but me.

It’s like a coat of arms that’s rusted in the sun,
while others happened and no clouds were near.

The best days are unexpected, unplanned, untainted,
while life happened all around, away and elsewhere.

It’s like dying every day, and losing every night,
to feel the loss of something unexpected and unknown.

A mourning without end and a wake that has no send off.

It’s like the death of a stone, unseeming and unreal,
like being splintered into the smallest piece that wouldn’t fit
in any hand or any life.

Nothing lost and nothing gained.

And yet, you’re dying everyday anew.

We’ve walked through the fire and the ice it created.
How many hearts have we broken in the process,
how many liars called by their names?
How many treasons shifted into promises,
and how many voices silenced?

‘Failure is not an option’

How much have we torn ourselves apart,
blown ourselves into oblivion
and rose back from the rubble,
only to start all over again?

When there are no solutions, no options,
no sunlight to reach down into the desolated plains
of misery and desperation,
when there was nobody offering even the smallest
money of their trust for us to buy our laughs,
when there was nothing left…

… there always was more…
you… me… something to say, something to cry about,
something to share, something to care and the only
thing we lost were our enemies.

And while we did wander the stretches of our imagination,
alone, and the beaches of heartache loved turned once more over,
changing their names and appearances through constant waves,
someone amongst us smiled and not you nor me could see it or even feel it.

They say that the night is darkest in the minutes just before the dawn.

Te voir, te regarder.
Construire chaque jour,
chaque heure,
chaque minute,
comme une cathédrale,
menée par un savoir arcane,
perdu il y a des ères,
tombé dans le fonds
de toute chose.

Te regarder, te voir.
Voué par l’heure,
tendu pour rire,
chambre après chambre,
d’une maison indissoluble
par le temps,
solidifiée par le passé,
illuminée par les étincelles
d’un futur
construit jour par jour,
heure par heure,
minute par minute.

Un cathédrale de lumières et de rires éternels.

Rallume mon coeur de milles morts,
quand le moment sera opportun,
quand le jour sera bien,
quand je ne serais plus qu’une goutte,
plus qu’une mémoire,
une brillance
de tout ce qui aurait dû être,
tout ce que nous aurions dû voir
et tout ce qui aurait pu me faire vivre.

Rallume mon coeur de mille mots,
comme des étincelles,
dans une feu trop brûlant,
des pierres blanches
dans une rivière trop profonde.

Qu’aurons-nous fait de nous,
un jour dans ce future qui jamais
ne franchira la dernière frontière
entre ici, maintenant et une fois, là?

Qu’aurons-nous dit
à ceux qui autrefois nous demandèrent,
et maintenant se taisent?

Aurons-nous eu assez de tout et de rien?

Rallume mon coeur
qui finalement a fini de battre dans tes mains nues.
Après tant de peurs et tant de pleurs.
Après le dernière mot et la dernière larme.

When do we really dare to know, dare to care?
There is a silent whisper whenever the clouds separate themselves,

torn apart by insensitive finger of windy heights,
blown to the extremes of this world,

a whisper that prolonged and minded, speaks of eternity.

With words that no language can bear nor hold,
a symphony of continuous harmony,
creating ever on, like the waves that continue to roll

one after the other, into and onto this land,
into my heart and your eyes.