HARSHLY TURNED INWARDS

Have seen through life and little is left me unseen.

The Now, is since long seen, already hatched,

to its very last drop a home-birded and tired.

Time,

there presage moved gifted unexpected possibilities

in the false promises that are ripped apart inside by the miraged

 while just running away from the latest cancelled occurrences…

But, still…

awoke to something unreachable and desirable in me,

as it would be a life without any words, rich with other than trash.

At long last given here entry to an Enlightened New Time;

an age where the new pen cease being so meaningless and mightless.

Wished deeds step onwards. None gets away.

Hear a last warning filled with severity.

All is altered.

INFÅNGAT! 6

HARSHLY TURNED INWARDS

THE HILLSIDE SMITH SECRET

Sleeplessly resting in a fragile hint,

so alike a water circle offers shallowness;

sighted shortly and withheld; so moving

 

 

Tracing then the water in the forest-creek down to the river.

 

Waiting here. Observing with a careful watchfulness.

 

Counting everything musingly and cultivating my freedom.

 

 

Honour is never anything other than right; wise and truthful,

unthinkable to therein search after any hidden motives.

 

 

Sleeping safely next to the hillside smith at summer-dawn.

 

Relief comes when Life again will be enough.

 

Letting fastidious be me reasonable and healthy.

 

 

Opportunities, the now’s possibilities avoided me steadily

and persistently bitterness bites memories sown,

cock-sure and clearly; in benefit for worthlessness

 

 

But, I have a prevalent advantage in clearest excess;

 

I am foresighted on the Holy Path Home to Valhalla.

THE HILLSIDE SMITH SECRET

1 SIGFRIDSSON I KLARHET IMMA

 

AWAITED

 

Awaken in the moment mists climb the mountain

 

Writing three words; Not a word ―

on molten fragile leaves the winds have thrown around

 

I hasten there, up to, close to almond trees in its new,

refilling calm and leaving behind tears from a joyous

that will soon trickle me away fast against this world

as missed moments of beauty finds sorrows for days

 

Eagles and ravens follow through the valley glen

home to how Wind caresses the clouds slightly ― Home

 

Here ― over these chamomilestrewn tracks that meanders

on a gathered freodpath far away from the wound’s revilers

 

Hold me as one always awaited, present and sorely missed,

owning these memories that was worthy to be left alone

and continue to blossom sweetly here, even after my death

 

 

Shifting ―

Moving eyes between Light and the afterglow of darkness

The night has torn itself, sending lovewords to the Universe again,

kissing the stars eyes softly, tenderly, without any frailty to remain

ALMOND TREES IN BLOOM

ALMOND TREES IN BLOOM

IN AN AWAITED LUSTFALL

Leaned against this mirkened fence
are we found equally bleached,
beaten by sun, rain and winter cold

The wait was like cracks around ice-holes,
in cold, unreliable and of inadequacy,
for the scum’s loopholes, nonsensical sidetracks,
refused me to blossom anew during withering

It all carried on, kept creating that ― nothing,
when all of this suffering bred forth its pitifulness
So, show me a memory freed from complaint here,
but honourable shall to my eyes can only Knowledge be

I am the quarry of Life’s faults
with my pathfound steps

Loved
Always feared

Hated
Always hailed

IN AWAITED LUSTFALL

IN AWAITED LUSTFALL

STONES

WISDOM!

How embarrassing you have become,

your scent too near the madhouse
sings its sorrows without any good motives

What wisdom has cannot be used

 when what wisdom lacks is asked for

From the remains think yourself clean
and take the heart freed from words,

for the thoughts upon your path

where no one wish for to wander

crawl down in the ground

where nothing can grow

and carve ruins of the years

to a paltry salary

in shadowlike kneeling,

in self-effacing moaning

*

Clean tears fall only in words,
consolidated under vanity´s shelter
where they have loved with barbed wire and mockery

to a great thrill for all our words´ tragic handouts…

*

Words to the sting, given joy filled lust,
to wishing wells´ finalized completions,
made to participating, present answers
Near the Altar of Fate nailed to remain.

Most alike the believed picture of you is hailed,
or creeps down to another backlash reaction
and becomes its own conclusions´ executioner;
slanderer, and eventually the own wills whore
therein depredated flesh from the thoughts sit
as harrowed, in ridiculous unpalatable qualms,
hailing spilling, tearing down inherited rights,
while monarchy and democracy lie stupidity

upon a conspiring and deranged slaughter table

under imitation, unwanted shiny residues,

showing the highest heights´ devised murder

*

Spring water in swamps will swamp water be.

*