Posted on

How I Long To Believe –

How I long to believe in something –
how the world lets me down each time I try –
everything I believe in
seems destined to wither and die –

My heart remains full of visions
as my mind stays full of songs –
but the words die on my lips
when I ponder the past gone wrong.

I admire the certainty heard
in the voices of other people –
so sure of themselves they drown out
my voice; so frail and feeble –

How I long to believe in something –
but life has taught me – and harshly:
no truth stays truthful for long;
there is no such thing as certainty

So I maintain my silent vigil
over dreams buried and gone
and scoff at the people around me
who thinks they are right and I’m wrong

How I wish that I never believed –
that I never allowed hope to stain
my mind with its reveries…
How I wish it hadn’t all been in vain.

Posted on

I Have Not the Arrogance of Humans

I have not the arrogance
of humans –
mine is not the voice
of presumption –
I walk among them
in silence
and they do not sense
my presence –

I have not the bearing
of them –
not their arrogance,
pretense –
not their wild-eyed fury
at ideas
that scatter in the wind
around the bend –

I have not their beliefs
and dreams –
their hopes and fears
and follies –
I won’t purport to understand
their ways.
I understand enough
not to try –

Posted on

Dystopia anno 20**

I.

It was a cold autumn day in-between late summer and the rainy season. The smell of rain was in the air, and the overcast sky already threatened with it, but it hadn’t started yet and could easily drag out for days. The buildings looked sharp in the grey light. A 3D animation printed onto the fabric of reality. Only the wind disturbed the image somewhat by ruffling the trees and sighing repeatedly. A few trees were yellow and red but most were still green and the orchard still showed the surreally red spots of forgotten, ripe apples there was nobody to pick.
And so the scene is set for the story.

Continue reading Dystopia anno 20**

Posted on

Who I Am

The cold light of dawn that highlights all flaws –
I stand firm in the face of danger,
humiliation,
misunderstanding –
for lack of alternative.
What does the world have to offer me
but a prison made of human hearts –
cells made of words
with bars made of meaning.
If I could solve the riddle
I could break free.
The cold light I shed on the world
makes it easier yet more difficult to see.
All details sharpened,
all meaning blurred.
All questions blatantly showing,
no answers acceptable.
I long for shade,
peace,
night.
But the light is everywhere.
I stand in the middle of it,
illuminated by it
yet unseen by others.
I stand unwillingly
processing
everything.
No rest is offered me
ever.
I am the cold light of dawn
which nobody likes
since it shows them
all that is wrong with the world –
and with themselves.

Posted on

Childhood Dreams

I used to dream of wisdom,
I used to dream of strength.
I used to dream of good things –
those dreams were all to end.

I used to dream up people,
I used to dream up jobs.
I dreamt of past and future –
the future that was lost.

I used to dream of travels,
they came and off they went.
I used to dream of happiness
but what I had is spent.

I used to dream of getting,
achieving… all in vain.
And now I dream of dreaming
for dreams alone remain.

But now I cannot dream
without that bitter sting;
that bitter voice that whispers:
“You’ve lost it, everything!”

What’s lost is mainly this,
the most important part;
that crucial belief in dreams
that warmed my childhood heart.

Posted on

The Dried-Up Ocean

Childhood vs. Adult Imagination

I remember, once upon a time,
an ocean stretching far and wide –
an open, endless, wide expanse
whose boundaries were out of sight

Yet now, when in that kind of mood
I take the path towards its strands
I find a muddied, little brook
that hardly stirs among the sands

And all the worse; where it before
was cool and quite refreshing, so
today it’s warm and drowsying –
no, nothing’s like it was before

Posted on

Love, What Are You?

Achievements – what are they?
They’ll vanish when I’m gone,
and though my heart is young
my soul is ancient-old.

I’ve known sorrow, known pleasure,
and love is all I have to show,
a love impeding every chance to grow
and yet I seem to wish it so.

Love, what are you?
The dying breath of longing and desire
when you cause all that I admire
to fade into reality.