It is ALL in there, only that it remains hidden
on display in… pavilions!
in the book of the moment,
at the given moment in the humble meekness
where’s the window’s skin is far too thin for the wicked weather
quivering with fury… stammering and iced
(Add a thousand and so more)
Who sits near you,
touching you, a slow trembling, Fingers.
Bring on lots more honeyed mead.
For caged music(s), the voice of longing
Blessed art thou, a little bird, blessed among the blessed
sitting next to our piano and sharing a sweet whisper
my soul is fleeting, like the airplane circling over my old room
the black keys, the white keys
forged in silence
I play the piano, people…
It was bombs and cannons and soldiers shooting
I am everything
becoming a mass of flames at the touch of…
(Fingers! I either got blind, can’t see a thing. Fingers!)
Am I nothing?
But the blank face of the bloodbath bathed in mutiny
Of the March pale grass, eristic cherries scattered by the wind
And what was left… was music and me
I gaze into my front yard
you know, living outdoors is very beautiful
I’ve seen the old mine battlefield
and that day, I mean to play minefields, there
with a hammer!
bumping against the keys
stripped of a core melodies
An understanding words with a remarkable depth of insight worlds
saying such things as my heart is defiled
as agate as.. hematite gemstone
It seems a mythical beast itself is glowing from under my skin
red – light picture
Just… ash, just this…