the dog silhouette
surrounded by the green light
after you, he walks
chosen prey of the hunter
among the moors
through the music of the sorrowful symphony
his howl moans your name
the ghastly sound of the undoing
bound to you, pain-filled inamorata
the air thick with pain
the fog choking your throat
his gleam like hellbound light
in the past, hidden secrets
the ancestors’ redemption
through your sacrifice
through your blood
morn faded in the mists of the fog
joyful silhouettes spin in the dim light
mockery on their lips, wilderness in their hearts…
… as the fairies circle around the old willow
spear of brilliance, fireflies of the olden days
magic, spells, and freedom
the gleam in the mirror of the past
an solas timpeall na gcrann
We all deal with our demons in the closets, but they can’t leave them, if we close the door.
The fire descending from the sky, the scorched mind, begging for the ethereal water. All thoughts closed in a small burning casket, where no air seems to be allowed. The deserted brain yells for relief, the body shivers under gusts of heat.
I loathe hot weather. Give me a cold beer, please. Otherwise, I will change into a dry scarecrow. I miss the winter, the beautiful snowy landscape of forest behind my window. Now even trees beg for a solace.
How many months? Only a few. I count the days until the first frozen pattern painted by frost on my pane…
the falling walls hide my heart
deep in the ground, under bed of thorned flowers
finding it equals death
as the poison injects into your veins
the walls fell
and buried my body underneath
the lonely bird sings over the brick grave
his button cotton eyes lurk beneath
buttons and cotton
the bird is made of, he
guards my tombstone made of walls
I wanna dive in the forest like in the water, falling into the leaves and bath in them like a crazy puck.
We all have our own balrogs to slay, to emerge stronger than before.
The heavy silence enveloping the air
like thick cocoon shutting my all senses
incrusting itself into my flesh
drinking my blood like an upir
song engraved in my soul
yet unable to be sung
I am silent
like an old snow-covered mountain
at the line where the world ends
Caradhras grew in me
unable to pass-through
The demon sleeps in me, it has the shape of my fear.
It burns with crimson inferno, burns and calls, tries, and tries, whispers – leap into me, swim in me, immerse in the depths of me, become me. Fire will clean you – of everything, of your body and thoughts, of your pain and suffering.
It will leave the burning witch, calling on the gods who are also burning, blazing with even higher flame. Chronos laughs and ashes the field that I irrigated all spring.
When one has too much time and butchers the problems in one’s head, they seem so eternal.
Sometimes, I wish a day had 50 hours. Sometimes – just 1.