RECOVER LIFE’S HEART

Guarding the hours altering; their changes: My prey.

Fogcovered ― AWAKENED!, rising ― Dawning now lifts itself
swiftly roused, opened in the lightsoaked halls in the forest

and all night is missing ― for a moment, ― again.

(Worries bite ― a burden lingers on.)

Wandering up all the Path’s aged, burnt in, yearsteps,

standing upon flowering field islands,
leaving by my withering footprints

and catching torn thoughts ― when spoken my heart clears, ― to remain.

Life’s heart, our hearts; are born matured.

So return, come you who listened, know the qualm cleanhearted;
on hate’s and gladness terms here allowed to tenderly intertwine
with the lighthearted ― maybe sorrowfilled, enlightened Sun’s routes

I am proven ― when your shivers go cold, ― if you wake up.RECOVER LIFE_S HEART

KLAR MED DÖDEN I LIVET

 

(En omärklig skymt under lövvalvet: Gryningsimman rinner på stenarna.)

 

 

Skrider undanskymd genom (hithörande nategräs)

 

Kliver över en regnbäck (innanför ett mjukt dimregn)

 

Läser i regndroppar på nyponblom; (min egendom)

 

 

 

Är klar. Klarare än källvattens megin

 

Är klar över det döda med detta liv.

 

 

Klar. Hårdare än sorgens första tårar

Klar. Renare än äktad glädjes näring

 

Klar.

klar-med-doden-i-livet

ULTIMATUM

O!

You so easily bought, mightless and tarned,

trapped scabby with the loss of lust caught,

fully emptied of rights: Necessarily trashed!

 

You…

 

You! Forgotten remaining in a worn and fouled

You! Eyetiredly drowned in permanent quicksand

You tracelessly left to be helpless,

you filthy weak and meek, listen up a while!

 

Long enough has wished for been searched down in unwanted

while illusions has been emptied of gladness

where false found thought-worthy qualm unthought thought

and exertedly spilled its power on the pitiful needs

 

Only misanthropists can love what our world has become

while deprived and crushed promises been mortarized

for the weed itself has scuffled in thirst after our blood,

around, and down, at the poisoned well’s places

 

And few wish little more than to qualify as wretch…

 

It is me anyway so bitingly bitter to break

with ripped apart society’s broken

where the crippled and dizzy demand Life to crippled be

 

Hardly.