Under The Armor

Under The Armor

Once, I saw a man standing by a lake,

Hands by his side, dipped in ache.

His alabaster glass skin glowed blue,

confusion and regret, a heart too true,

lit only by the full moon´s light.

He looked like a deadly wounded knight.

Around his head the nimbus of black hair,

like seaweed, floating in liquid air;

moved by unseen currents of wrath.

Small fish hid there, undulating plastic trash.

I cannot forget those eyes, white and cruelly blank.

like a carcass washed unto the riverbank…

A godlike face, innocent, then scalded by waves of time,

ripped by tides of passion, molded by crime:

laughing, weeping, screaming for atonement.

… I chose him as my opponent.

 


image from Animatrix (Peter Chung)

The Lunatic And The Moon

published: here


A Poem – The Lunatic And The Moon

 

poem

 

I submerge in the silvery flood

of the dark whisper in my blood

past’s poison floats to the surface

full in shape, the moon rises too

midst the sclera of midnight blue –

“Observing, my dear! Observing

your fate and redemption…”

 

All those tiny human things

I wished to lose, not to suffer,

not to hunger, nor to feel pain.

I´d give you my love, my hate,

my body, my pain, my thoughts,

my everything, just to be free.

-Free from my humanity.

 

She quietly observes, maybe pondering.

The enormous eye rests on a rooftop,

blinks eventually. Once… Twice…

“As you wish, my love.”

Night’s cold I don’t feel anymore

Power surges through my bones

Rises like water over volcanic stones.

 

Wounds on my skin all healed,

my soul´s grim just a bad dream.

Only hunger keeps me company.

I lick my muzzle starvingly,

scratch my ear, with a paw-

„WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

But my scream’s just a howl…

almost remembering

almost remembering

 

Fading to a shadow, husk of the man I used to be

the swirling blackness inside me came to agree,

 

your words are the cold gust I flutter in,

struggling towards you, like a banner for sin –

 

torn by promises and pleas… Not enough, not free.

Forgotten by love, I’m oarless floating on the sea.

 

A shadow dissolves into the darkest night

if it forgets that there was warmth and light…

 

I’d breathe but the leaden black on my chest,

adds the weight of your memory to my breast.

 

Midnight’s coming, and I know I’m flawed.

Storm’s coming and I’m the lightning rod


Inspired by “Gravity” by Danny Pool; Picture by Lallian Valte

***

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the birds fled as /

the smart trot and jingling  of the rimy harnesses/

cross the laughing woods

*

How it went:

I was on the prowl to take some photos of the wildlife, in a little wood nearby. I do that a lot. The weather was cold, the wind bit my cheeks. Curiously, the  birds started singing, and I did my best to sneak up on them.

Suddenly, the sound of approaching hooves startled the birds, and they took off.  As the carriage passed by my position, the people on it started laughing. I must have looked foolish, standing there in the ditch, clambering unto the rimy rosebush, camera glued to my face.


pic by author

how to become a dragon

how to become a dragon

there is a spot in every human heart

a place where the beats start

where a sacred fire burns so hot

that time itself is blazed’n caught

in obsidian; frozen  in motion

peace and hope, love and emotion

like glass; such a delicate thing

hasty words become poisonous sting

a crack is all it takes; and it’s easily made

and the smiles and butterflies all fade

nervous fingers scratch, eyes dilate,

tongue meanders, nothing is straight

every touch hurts, each memory burns

every word gravitates, till fate turns…

but sometimes the hope gets chuck

the poor heart is tainted and stuck

its fire is cursed into envy and rage

melting its way through the ribcage

fusing skin into heat resisting armor

wings- easy as the smile of a charmer

bloated cynical phrases carry a bitter wind

flames to melt the soul, to make you blind

claws to destroy others, that’s a dragon’s guilt

and when the fire dies, that’s when you tilt

the other

the other

there is this house between lime trees

an old man with a black dog lives there

and on the collar it carries a bunch of keys

listen – a distant jingle in the cold night air

One key is black, the other made of silver,

one is of iron, one of wood and quicksilver,

one of rust, one of copper, one made of lies

one is made of sunshine, one of bottle flies

night falls with pallid light and heavy shadows

winter chill  exhaled from the animal’s wet nose

the old man lights a candle and his dog sits

he arranges pebbles, buttons and wooden bits

his dry bony fingers poke at them on the table

trying to pick up a witch stone but unable

he smiles and tugs a key from the collar

the dog howls, saddened with dark dolor

its eyes glow, searching for his master’s face

searching for an impulse in time and space

The old man stands up bent, goes to the door

jams the key into the lock to turn it once more

the entrance door swings open, to let in the dark

the dog follows the living light ignited into spark