Category Archives: Wrong signals

Asterix ünd der Soul

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broken

Retourne-moi mon petit profond noir et tous mes étonnantes étoiles,
l’embrasse de la vraie vie sur ma poitrine et sur mes épaules,
constant fil à suivre vers le fin d’une monde qui me bouleverse
et à la ligne, on recommence depuis le début de l’histoire vers les éternelles….

Hope and dreams I’ve lost them all and need them back,
I’ll have to leave and die and hurt and kill to move my feet,
and heart-shaped doodle paper may burn but won’t give heat;
in the morning I wake to part and you, my love, can have my heart,
already far, my eyes are blind, legs will follow and I hope a soul;
but, hey, don’t tell the world…

The game

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gambler by keid 89

Uphill Kinsley road in a house where no soul passes
we’re all naked playing cards with the demons and the horses
and I dare you throw the dices in the middle of our game and score a five,
for heelless whispers without name may take your purpose off it’s way
and retired pastor’s preaches describe good reasons to remain
to put your boots aside and come and play with cards and chains…

Old floor screeches and there are steps in the dust
nothings moves through the cloud that nests in the house,
the furniture is covered by blankets that long lost their white
the stairs are heavy under memories that fell off your hair
and you are in bed with a ghost that did not even start to smoke,
and the carpet is gone between midnight and again…

Stick-figures are hiding aces and queens in the paintings below,
the gramophone box speaks in a thong that isn’t taught anymore
and there are dots and lines and the Pharaoh’s eyes on the walls,
the postbox outside is filled with grains of sweat and stories of war
and the bus never stops and the yard is a savanna of sorts
and you my friend have scored a five and forgot to ever go home…

The End

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Creation of Adam

Here it ends,
the road we took upon together so many worlds ago
and all the chatter that was sent both ways from ears to mouth,
the crystal egg cracks open for the dragon to arise,
to burn to ashes once again The Queen of Hearts…
I thank you for the love and thank you for the hate,
for days of endless wonder and nights of unpaired bliss,
I thank you for the words that always shared your soul,
for the music and the dance and the taking as a whole…

Here it ends my love, the morning whispers and the evenings on the call,
it’s the end of disagreement and of any dream we shared
and the things supposed to come shall never be the same,
nor secluded spots we loved, nor the two day drives…
And I thank you for the love and thank you for the hate,
for there’s a right time to feel each one of them as much,
a time to seek the wisdom, as well as time to let the heart rebel,
a time to walk together, and a time to walk alone…

And here it ends my love,
the rocky path we left behind with certitudes and question marks,
the unmet expectations and a little wood house on the shore,
the dog called Dog and the arch of roses by the porch,
here it ends, the world,
and I thank you for the walk, for always being on my side,
I thank you for the words and thank you for the thoughts,
I thank you for the time you took to hold my hands
and I thank you for the love and I thank for the hate….

Missing Sunday

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@Lubasa - Killing time sketching

She was killing time in Montserrat
as she felt the boiling of the stone-chair in the cotton heart he digs
and she was holding back the anchors that led her to this place,
she took a photo of the band and two guys in leather jacket with a haircut to regret,
little prince upon a picture of a story that comes back
and a simple dress in almost white, an almost lover to confess,
the roses guide her steps to stairways leading to uncover all that rest..

He used to burn a pocket full of wonders in his chest,
arms around the trembling body of a secret shady deed not to forget
and the memories so sweet of the books she used to read and of those with funny breed,
and he used to let her to the facts while the night would do its heist and others slept,
bloody hands was all she had to turn from labor into calling mirror pieces, ash and sugar, fourteen years of days to last till the sunrise of a blast…

And she was killing all her time on a Sunday afternoon,
people heading up and down, whiskey, vodka and cigars
and the words would come and go raining tears in her soul,
while two strangers on a bench never got to have a chance,
on a Sunday afternoon when she’s loosing all again
in the darkness with no cover, with the eyelids to the floor
and the morning act of glory that reminds her of the old…

Nașterea

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Return to wonderland

Am să te rănesc…am să te ucid fără să te ating,
sunt făcut din ițe, din firele de iarbă, sunt făcut din prea multe nuanțe,
și o să te doară, când am să te pictez în culori de toamnă,
nu sunt eu salvarea, șoaptele sunt vorbe menite să coboare înserarea peste fruntea ta…
fugi acum cât mai departe, rupe-te de zările cu nori,
eu ard ca o speranță, dar focul mistuie ninsori
iubit-o pașii ți-i îndreaptă spre certitudini nu spre noi;
eu sunt durat în piatră, rece ca torentul ce mă spală,
poate oare mâna ta așezată peste maluri să sădească ghindă?
Poți să înțelegi tu oare,
să te iubesc și să nu te chem la închinare,
să îți scriu în rostiri numele de fecioară fără să-l citesc sub cruce,
că am să spulber vise și am să răstorn credințe?
Poate ai să mă ierți când soarele răsare,
poate vei schița un zâmbet când ai să vezi un spectru al zilelor trecute,
sau vei trece mai departe,
frumoasă din orele cu basme,
dar mai presus de toate îți doresc să guști din nemurire,
așa cum tu nu vei putea înțelege,
femeie, că dimineața nunții noastre a fost pe veșnicie…

Ode

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@ http://www.boldsky.com

Ode to my feet that keeps me standing,
to each of the pillars that never gave up caring when the world was mine to hold,
to the tall mountain trees that push against the storms,
and to the masts that hold against my troubled seas,
ode to the dirt on my toes and the scars with their stories untold,
I am writing an ode to the very best friends and the caress of your warm hands,
poetry for the lonely, a language for the few,
an ode to the sand steps washed up by the rain,
to the names I cannot pronounce, to the numbers and the unexpected…
Ode to my feet that walked upon your shadow,
to the bones and the muscles that kept me standing,
to every fiber and nerves and the vessels that did not shrink when fear cornered me,
ode to my feet that against my best intentions brought me closer to your dream
and did not break away when I touched the lips
and did not skip a beat when I did another deed,
ode to the plants that I squashed when I danced,
to the ants and the plans
and the past upon which I pressed heavy boots to pass
one thought closer,
two steps nearer to the dream I never hoped to hold…
Ode to my feet that keeps me standing,
ode to the gift,
ode to the heat…

Things to do before I die

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691307

Things to do before I die: listen to the music and don’t forget to smile,
and when you need to cry,
and when you just want to die,
when your soul is loosing spark and all you hear are nails scratching on the walls,
howl into the darkness, punch them in the face… break the silence, have a taste,
in a million pieces scrambled all apart… break the silence and protest;
and the morning after when they’re at your door, with a hand of steel and the eyes to kill,
run baby run,
and do take the gun,
hop on the saddle and just keep going, motors growling, tyers stretching,
burn the road, break the silence, have a taste of how it feels,
the fresh air, the morning rain and the sunshine that’s about to show,
run, run baby run and grow a heart to call your own….
And just before I’m about to die,
fearless and trustworthy I’ll put my arms into fire and my feel into dust,
with no regret and no illusion,
I’ll pass on my last thought: that I couldn’t have it better,
that life is worth living as mouths worth feeding
that heart is worth having as love worth finding,
and no regrets,
baby no regrets and always keep running…