TRUTH’S MERCY

You, you so roseborn and luminous,

in guise and lifted into nothingness,

out of fear blunted blind and bound,

selling grief all its laughable advices

.

You, you lie springless and inconsolable,

in famine outside of Truth’s Mercy

.

This is tragic

.

It is the broken’s tears

.

This is freedom in a world of dross

.

You weathered call yourself perfect

while life’s illusions become wills

and thoughts shape more stupidity

to explain reasons for all stupidity

.

Waivers of the only raised above

are tolerating vexed ridiculous ideals, 

defined out from futilities’ stomachs

and will be found where miseries hunts

.

For while All High is praised

you love with what is spoiled

.

Ends

scraped forth

in suffering

were naught was 

and soon forgotten

in turned sight’s snaring deeds

.

Warming this powerless pathfinder

which should loathe suffering’s might,

before he here infected will self-starve

outside the existence of Truth’s mercy

TIME FOR WILD STRAWBERRIES

Well, well, well… I did snap some photos of wild strawberries in their bloom, so I was forced to continue… It is summer. Enjoy.

WILD STRAWBERRIES 1

WILD STRAWBERRIES 1

WILD STRAWBERRIES 2

WILD STRAWBERRIES 2

WILD STRAWBERRIES 3

WILD STRAWBERRIES 3

THE CRACKS

Thinking myself taking oar strokes between the field islands hills

and sail by untouched;

in defenseless journey forward into a new dawn

 

Detained…

while the written clouds dense the sight

have gleamed-through wisdom been graveled and extinguished

 

Remaining in missing futures ― when memories rupture

 

*

 

Am in fragments to piece together

Threadthorned blinkers to throw off

A hidden away pathfinders aging heart

 

We or You,

forced to cuddle with suffering for its ugliness sake

 

We, have suffered enough,

streamed in the cleanest well

 

for others

 

 

Insufficiency has gifted more than enough

while Death bit by bit caught us life-marked

 

too long

 

Have traced the frustrations; the conditions itself,

setting in hearts a rope to snare the scab carriers

You know, was so heartstarved, forced to fair my eye,

overdose beauty in a torn down world

where animal life now is set as a goal to reach up to

You,

there must come in prettier days here soon

Speak.

THE CRACKS

THE CRACKS

ON ROSECOVERED SNARES PATH

Weedbundles to catch

Nettles to eat

Blindfolds to carry

Walls to bury

 

Life to sort

 

In drunken swagger after slightest right to hold loved

sifts the funny farms steadily for what is most sane

while the scum lie absent-minded with a red apple in the mug

 

Un-astute unwieldy ― Wretched,

grubbing in exchangable Nothing,

turns around,

not unlike stinking and staring cows

 

And hardships small bread crumbs look good in darkness’ corner

while the very finest scum oink away to their babble songs

 

Retards demand to equal eachother to live furthest down

in clutching after cheap thought-jewelry and life-pettiness

Misgrowth is dug up ideals: Meaningless crass experiences

But, unclean will remain being Gladness’ most rare guests

 

Weedbundles to throw

Nettles to grow

Blinfolds to burn

Walls to build

 

 

Life to sort

MORE THAN LOVE

 

Seldom do futile words about love take on a living,

but leave in defiance its new ruins everywhere.

 

Listen in here carefully now, sneerlife;

Wrong in the head gives wrong in the eyes.

Right in nothing own rights to nothing.

Shut thereafter kindly your slow snout.

 

Advice on advice writes a starving harvest

wording a wisdom stolen from nonsense

wherein tiresome words are endowed pity

so like raisins showing the full grape vine

 

We know all too well that been and had are us a wretch to harvest

so keep all your filthy, wry-legged and weakmoulded words

where all regretted ”love” always takes its way home to be hated

 

Hear the laughter at your comparing of mutual infantilities to be sane

and find you thereafter that the will to your wrongs are missing here,

furthermore that more than love is not a mystery; The name remains.

 

Rip from its hold

that cleanest emotions have here too hard been used up,

that the fairest scum creeps in line before foulest!

 

Rip from its hold that suffering and death stand all near!

 

Take to its hold

that Honour will outshine petty survival,

that only Truth does own us in real Beauty!

MORE THAN LOVE

MORE THAN LOVE