image: Dreamlike Photo Manipulations by Mikko Raima
A germ of eternity
A peasant spouse, the God of Death,
With bulging eyes and mouths-a-shiver,
And then the story goes;
Befitting my dark being’s tastes,
In spite of insanity and oblivion –
With in tune, swings of the pen within the place.
My soul’s tale is clear.
I dissolved it.
A trap of hallucinations, thus I whispered,
(daring not to
listen any further.)
When I think towards a time when I was NOT
Without knowing how, or when, or from where
I stepped in deep darkness…
Wickedness with a wink,
but a concept of rhythm and tempo
Wherein the uttered swung enchanted,
Rooted in the intuition of this spirit of darkness
Or whatever was sent to get me
An unfinished temple
With the presence of the spirits there for eons,
The true polyglots, storms of words,
Yet calming, mildly warning,
A vast gathering around me, out of nowhere
An unseen ghostly hand recording what is happening
And out of nowhere and unbeknownst to me
That self-exile, quite disgusting mystery
My malice is going for theatrics.
For I AM, for I am NOT,
I am exactly the same, the cross built,
A shrine in the castle,
(Of the entire
Sick of scribbles – nothing
Sick of wisdom – nothing
Too alive to die
Entangled with the ray of death
And stepped away suddenly,
Neither dead nor living to live,
Everything lasts in shades long buried.
A wild eternity dismembered
By monstrous hands of the gods moan.
I reached the edge of the gradient,
Entangled with the ray of death and
Stepped away suddenly.
And finally, at once,
Until I’ve taken a
Bite of my mental wellbeing…
I shut my eyes…
To fill with fear
To inhale the scent
While resting from my presence.