Drycicles

It was decided that me and my ghost

would hold vigil at the stone on top of the tomb

The sky was watching closely from above, what’s there deep down

Below? I did not know

If that was love or pure madness that had driven me

To assist. But then my ghost insisted

It was hard to resist the preying eyes

The white knuckles, the inviting lips.

She needed a companeer,

Somebody to hold her hand while she’d cry for the loss

Long denied, much too feared.

And the oak trees stood witness and the sky watched above

How the howling and sorrow found a word that was love,

And the nails grasped the earth that was covering the dead

And she cried, and she weeped, while I waited ahead. And the pine trees stood witness

And the moon shed a tear. Thus I dreamt in the shadow

drawing back in my head.

G.

The boat goes on, thrust in the wind, a darkening

Speckle on the seas of sand, a ghastly

Sail traversing the horizon. Its lifeless “now”

That’s always been, the memory of dreams at dawn

With open eyes still gazing at the rising. Take time,

Take love, there’s plenty in the hour-glass, quietly put your hand

In this liquid mirage we call dust, how is that like?

Navigate your fingers

Through the cutting crystals and just inhale the

Perfume

This is the schorching heat that’s waiting for us at the next harbor

The fumes are visible beyond the door of your hand

When we will reach the shores of this sea

Of this land.

G.

Unspoken words have no life beneath the blink-of-an-eye

They wither and pass like the fog on the hills, like the mist

On the Meadows; but if you silently stay, if you cling to the moment

You will hear what`s been spoken in that split of a second.

It`s neverending, truly a giant library of Babel where all are just copies

With the tiniest of mistakes, there are the true “love you’s” to the wrong person

There are the “goodbyes” that were not meant to break. The maelstrom of

Unspoken words

The immensely stratified web whose chords are tiny mistranslated transcripts

Just await to be written. You can’t be wrong when you write, this is the convention

That sometimes needs another edition of the book to be pushed on the table.

Thus I lay all my thoughts as they come, as they go, let it fly – says the voice

Let it flow. And one day, just one day, looking back I will see what was right

Not to write, but to know.

G.

Stare in silence, sweet voice of crystallite

Black crow of deliverance, adorned

Aragonite.

Its wings of velvety arcades

Unending

Its eyes two fiery godly teardrops

Descending

In light.

It is the rock and the stone that fall loudest

It is the rigid embrace that binds deepest

Tonight I’ll find another way to feel

Hide from me that which is weakening

That which is deafening to my music.

G.

Tell me what’s below the surface since

I’m drowning inside out, shout at me louder

Talk to me faster, isn’t that what is life

All about?

I forgot my own name and my body’s desire,

Irrespective of doubt, open eyes closing shut

To contain all the fire that was dripped from

The fire, isn’t that what is life all

About?

G.