Along the catacombs
surrounded by whirlwinds of dread
and howls of the killed
and the slaughtered and ready for testing.
– for in the final phase,
Some try to resist, an unplanned,
human, nature-provided ability
To shift focus and fear for the bare sense.
The optical ability enhances,
images of merry demons
A smiling dance around the iris.
The main phase then ensues,
upon the rapid degradation
of potential to maintain one’s own
I and in this struggle, the eyes expand,
bulging in fear,
staring at the monster,
the shifted human form
which has the same countenance,
but shaded and bloodied with lack of feelings,
whose disgusting, dry mouth opened and
utter the Kafkian judgment
This is where the compilation comes
of several entities
pretending to be friends, godsisters and neighbors
in one singular entity,
hostile, radically evil with malicious intent and death in mind –
and the following sudden departure of a loving being
comes in, a being that uttered a judgment
out of nowhere,
using the nature-given freedom of MAN to think,
to use a flaw in its mind map,
each to his own moral metrics and laws of fidelity,
The universal reality consisted of
no more than a handful of cigarette buds
and other than rage at the impotent God
who punishes the good and awards the weak,
something that cannot be known,
but merely believed,
It was soft, hiding spot
The ship of illusions that friendship was possible.
I owe you moments of bliss.
Whenever entering my head, with roots, the wind,
the breath of tropical sun,
I struggle to survive my friends, godsisters and neighbors
in one singular entity,
hostile, radically evil with malicious intent and death in mind.
to go in pairs and be bound to a pack,
somewhere out there, on the edge of the lost world,
its monstrosity, but also its shininess,
None will notice it gone, or even as having existed.
The light and shadow play will merge with the vile contours of envy.
doubt and shame,
A haze, a wave in my thoughts,
a vortex where they wallow
in whirlpools and abysses of the deeps
A vision of a lunatic,
a nightmare with a hundred thousand deaths.
Obsession with fear.
An attack of the innocents,
A finger of fantasy pointed at them, listed their names.
a battle not to disembark the ship of illusions
And when they stick a knife in your back,
Everything moans in bliss.
The cowardly lack of will of the people
to stand up against the dictatorship of the benefactor
And peddled at their flaws – I am trying to survive!
To barely get by
a mass of people, conventional shoulder-patting,
well-intentioned advice from good people
Soft, muddy picture,
Then the image comes into focus
and a zoom-in of someone’s eyes.
Then the eyes spoke with fiery passion
and that would last for ten seconds
or so on a movie screen.
From the upper corner an unseen ghostly hand
recording what is happening in the writing on the wall
holds a great feast, and drinks from the vessels
that had been looted in the destruction of the First Temple. ..
The terrified Belshazzar calls for his wise men,
But they are unable to read the writing.
Everyone who ever hated me,
eating sandwiches and sewing leather jackets
that I pay on a loan,
Then all of the things in leather, I cannot even recall all of it.
They filled my suitcase, set aside my things
in it as if they were laying
my corpse in a sarcophagus.
(Who are these people?
How come there are so many good intentions in this… )
This is where the separation begins.
The tearing to pieces.
The introduction of chaos.
The whirlwinds in the devil’s plan
from whose monstrosity I shiver even
now when I don’t give a damn.
Photo Credit: “The Struggle Within”, Igor Morski
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