AS A FROST MOTH IN NOON-DAY THAW

Winter-shrouded wooded ground ― bitterly cold ―

plodding snowed over paths.

 

Whirling snow kisses. Helping me live.

 

Cutting in ― setting traces in time ―

hearing a frozen to death stone rapture.

 

Sensing emotions colden.

 

Future now stands here in the trace-meeting ―

knowing the inner in your voice ― in our two parts:

Let me become the most beautiful spring-freed leaf you’ve seen.

A CONFIRMED FATE

Raising up a monument

over an exception in excess and far above,
one who refused to own wrongs, but was robbed for far more

Well, it is clear that Man harbours here; there Worlds see:

“Am after repute active in other places
and that is surely more than a clue hereabout…

The years took me too early inside of current futures
therein true visions lived when near was;
but never really was lived.”

We agree upon refusing the revolting parts of the whole,
so doomed are to us the unwanted: All those coerced roads.

TRACK DOWN THAT THE NIGHTSIDE NOW BELONGS TO OUR DEFENCE
AND OPEN EYES ARE REWARDED WITH GOOD AND TRUTH. TAKE THAT IN!

STRAIGHTEN TWISTED THOUGHTS IN THOSE WEARING BLINKERS WITH HATE!

CRUSH THE LAST CONFIDENCE IN THE TREACHEROUS! FIND HERE THE ANSWER!

… IN LIGHT! Settling my death with my foes death.

… IN DARKNESS! Becoming an avoiding ghost.

… IN LIFE! I am pleased and drunk with victory.

 

WHERE THE DEW NEVER DRIES

It was in a time before silence was altered ―

just as daybreak came walking across the region
while cloudshadows swept onwards ― observing.

And the world set ― in Dumbness; uncountable scars
where excessive junk searched of ways to be charming…

(Myself? Wandered free there the dew never dries
and all of Life’s paths showed forward to Odin.)

We vaguely remembered safety and honestly owned excess,
real life in beauteous honour ― a longing home to Asgard;
to grow well rooted value only Goodness could bid Us.

(Obeying my steps. Leaving the bare ground opened traces
in time before the first snow will return as a threat.)

Skillfully, surely all too well, Truth answers:

“Tear down any seeming solace ― it is venality: Death.

We have foes to correct; to pay our plight, in our sight,
for naught stand more fairer grown than killed lies in life.

Let shatter the nightmareyears. Give Truth to hate and cure.

BE HONOURED! MIGHT AND GLADNESS! SET YOUR LIFE’S ROOT!”


THERE THE DEW NEVER DRIES