Ein halber Abschied

Es ist schwierig, mir vorzustellen, dass wir von unserer verfaulten Stelle weitergehen sollten. Es ist mir klar, dass wir nicht in der Vergangenheit zurückbleiben sollten. Meine Füße haben mich auch schon weiter von diesem Punkt gebracht. Aber ein Stück meines Herzens bleibt doch vergessen in diesem Ort, wo es für immer kalt bleibt.

Obwohl die logische Realitaet ihre Szenen vor meinen Augen malt, möchte ich trotzdem das Ganze doch nicht glauben. Naiv und egoistisch wie ich bin, ich möchte immer noch, dass du nur an mich denkst: dass dein Leuchtturm nur meine Gestalt anleuchtet.

Then Tomorrow

And I will be leaving you
My trails you will inherit
Along with reminiscences' quilt
And I will be leaving you
When my ship has come to shore
With baggage full of lore
Further I will soar
And I will be leaving you
If not today
Then tomorrow

I see images of myself. I see images of my-ought-to-be-self. Somehow it is hard to see those faces smiling. Sometimes it saddens me to see sublime hopes wander around in those eyes. There are my arms hugging my hopes tightly. There are my hands tugging my elevated contemplations hardly.
Those are shadows from the past. I know now what had occurred in the coming past, and can't help thinking to myself: "I have to shake myself off of these bubbly scales."

Perhaps the time has come for me to stop; for that state I was looking for is no more to be found.

I want to strip myself out of these cloaks
of fear, guilt, shame, weary
I want to stand stark naked
without any burden those coverings
are pinning me with no show of mercy

I want to get naked
with just my core outside
without feeling the chill
of the blazing wind

I want to present myself
with no fear, guilt, shame, weary
I want to stand tall stark naked on my ground
with no feelings the apple of paradise gave

proudly
proudly
proudly

"What my words can not utter
My hands will show"

And so he wrapped his arms around me,
smoothing out my tangled weariness
until the morning breeze floated
the orange moon away

Revelation

Just a knife cut away
On the other side of the window
There lies the world
in which I will see you again

I retrieve all memories I have
from the time we were not apart;
Oiling them as to hinder them
from rusting and fading away

Bathing my eyes with the golden dust
I see your depicted world
Mounted on top of the aurora
shimmering over mine

Just a knife cut away
and I will see you again
In the world on the other side of the window
Which will be opened no more

-Ode to Lyra and Will-

Emotions are colliding together and creating huge explosions of rainbowed colors. Their shreds are shooting accross the city, gouging through every solid material, flooding even the most crammed places, where even the dead doesn't have enough space to rest in peace.

Emotions are colliding together and creating new chaos in the smashed world: chain reactions without end in my heart.

A locket full of beloveds on my neck
A casket full of happiness in my pocket
A bottle full of hope on my waist
A book full of fairy tale love stories in my hands

I am ready to step out and face the world

My Missing List

I Wish Heaven Had a Phone

On the horizon she sat
putting down her grieve
on the weeping grass
she said

I wish heaven had a phone
so I could hear her voice once again
I think about her in silence
and often speak her name
All I have is memories
and a picture in a frame

But girl,
A mother would never leave your side

Her blood runs in your veins
Her emotions and thoughts
are the person you are now
Her energy is the life you are living

If you look deeply inside your heart
you will see her
If you listen closely to your heart
you will hear her
And someday in the afterlife
You will meet her again

Girl, a mother would never leave your side

My mind stumps, my soul numbs, my heart wilts. My eyes water, my stomach rebels, my lips pout. My grin hides, my laughter strike, my smile dulls.

I sit and stand and walk and run and lay and crouch.
I sing and cry and shout and whisper and snort.

Still

My mind stumps, my soul numbs, my heart wilts. My eyes water, my stomach rebels, my lips pout. My grin hides, my laughter strike, my smile dulls.

As time passes, my world crushes.

Schmerzen kommen und gehen, wie sie wollen. Oft weilen sie auch länger und fühlen sich bei mir wie zu Hause.

Because I was impulsive I have fallen in love with you and driven you away. Because I was impulsive I have fallen hard to the ground and was scattered to pieces. Because I was impulsive I have run right back at you the day you smiled at me
and thus made me vulnerable again. Because I was impulsive I have smiled back at you the brightest smile and thus blinded the sun.

Because I am impulsive I am writing this to you

Stupid

You would never say the word to me,
just as I would never say to you:
"maybe"
"I don't know"
to every question you'd ask about us

You would never let me hear that word from you,
just as I would never let you wait to have my love,
just as I would never let you stand in uncertainty,
just as I would never let you ache missing me

So in the time being I will chant the word
in a song

My Missing List

I miss your eyes: their smile
I miss your lips: their kiss
I miss your hands: their touch

I miss our walks
I miss our talks
I miss our laughs

I miss you

Just leave it to me to wrong what is right and leave it to him to ruin the chaos

Pleases

It was like walking with one foot,
where every step was a painful struggle.
Balance was something I had long forgotten,
for days were filled with stumbles and falls.

Exhausted, terrified, weary;
I tried moving forward lonesome,
ignoring the soreness and the pain,
hoping that
someday I would just get used to everything.

But you came along, my friend.
I did not take a look over my shoulder.
You were just there catching up.
Without me even crying out for any help.

You lend me your legs for me to walk upright.
You give me your voice for me to laugh out loud.
You offer me your warmth for me to stop trembling.
You endow me your presence for me to feel accompanied.

Heal me
Protect me
Stay with me

"You're everything that I've become, you're every word I say."

It doesn't matter how much I try, the images keep on popping inside my head, the liquid from the bubbles are rushing down through my throat and lungs into my heart. Flooding it with the sharp blades of sweet recollections.

"I need a bell, a book and candle to keep your ghost away." Eddy Reader.

I saw Demeter in my garden
Nodding, she was saying to me to be very patient.
For the seeds will soon be seen
as flowers dancing under the sun

Lately I have been trying to wring out smiles and laughter in my desolation. It is tiring to wear the mask the whole time, but put it aside I dare not. For I am afraid to get drowned in my own tears.

The pain doesn't hurt.
It's just there lingering and swaying
along to the shrill music of the glass sherds.

The pain doesn't hurt.
But I know it's there,
because I've often made acquaintance with it.

Wednesday, March 24th, 2010

Today was

decisions
trains
faces
glass sherds
blotched yellow sun
skinned trees
vanilla ice cream
benches
cold warmth
missing touches
waves
talking stranger
walks
loneliness in the crowd

You and I

Your tears are thorns in my heart
Your doubts are black clouds in my sky
Your disappointments are stones in my chest
Your fears are fogs in my forest
Your angers are fires in my head

Therefore be happy please,
because your joy plucks away thorns,
your security casts away black clouds,
your contentment throws away stones,
your safety clears up fogs,
your peace puts down fires.

Therefore be happy please,
for all of those known reasons,
because your happiness brings joy to my life

Es ist nur ein großes Loch in meinem Universum,
mir geht's blendend!

Wie weit wirst du gehen?

Du liebst mich
nicht
genug,
um deine Hand für mich ins Feuer zu legen

Du liebst mich
nicht
genug,
um deine Seele für mich zu verkaufen

Du liebst mich
nicht
genug,
um zusammen mit mir in die Vergessenheit zu gehen

Nein,
du liebst mich nicht genug,
um bei mir zu bleiben.

The Book Thief

I just finished reading the English version of "The Book Thief". A truly remarkable book that touched and stirred the core of my heart with its wit, sorrow, love and strange cases of luck. As the pages ran out, the tears were rolling down my cheeks uncontrollably: it was the simple story of the book thief; told immaculately by death; that wrung out sacks of salty water in my eyes. Her juggled words lulled me inside the farthest corner of my bed sheet and at the same time slammed me down on to the coldest hardest cement floor of her basement, where her foster parents stole and kept a Jew away from the Fuehrer.

I've known that words can bruise, hurt and even kill you. I've seen people bled; cut to pieces by words. But words can also fly you high up to heavens and make you forget your pains and let smile conquer your face again. Like the words from a loving mother to her crying child. One thing that I didn't know; what the stolen Jew called Max Vandenburg told me; was that one can also plant words and later harvest them on people. The Fueher and every other great leaders had known this and with the power of words they tried to conquer the world of humans, who actually invented and intended to use the very words for their own sake. The book thief tried once to kill the words just to find out that she was going to gather them again into her own.

Those wriggling dreaded harvesting years in Nazi Germany were her line of colors. She'd seen her brother coughed for the last time with one eye dreaming. She'd imagined her mother waiting for the train out of Munich to oblivion. She'd come to a new family with a mother whose face was made of lined cardboard but whose kind heart was huge and had millions of towering shelves; enough place for everyone; and a father who was actually an accordion with silver eyes and warm hands. She'd stolen foods and books from a woman who always left her windows open for her private thief; a woman whose soul was eerie and broken down because it had lost a huge lump somewhere in Stalingrad. She'd made a beautiful friendship with a feathery Jew in front of the fireplace. One thing she'd missed was to give someone a kiss while his lips were still warm and soft with life; something she would never be able to do anymore because she couldn't had bargained with time for another chance at the freezing water as the candle lit haired boy saved her newly stolen book.

She outlived everything. She was a survivor. And she was one of the many, who made it harder for death to cope with his reality of life. "I am haunted by humans", said Death at the very end of the page.

That was the book thief's simple story, that touched and stirred my heart with its each single word.

-For the love of books she stole them-

Good Night Wishes

Sleep tight, love!
Let the night blankets you so you wouldn't shiver.
Let your most wondrous dreams lend you new wings,
so you wouldn't stay on ground bleeding out your hopes and expectations.

Sleep tight, love!
The night always succumbs to the new daylight,
as the golden sun will always takes turn in reigning the realm of the silver moon.
A new day will always be born after the passing away of yesterday.
With it are also born new hopes.

Sleep tight, love!
And shove your tiresome burdens outside the door.
As tomorrow will come,
a new beginning is destined to descend after every end.
Rest your head and sleep tight, my love. . . .

Waiting for Godot

I have no idea why I am still awake
as the night dance away.
I have no idea why I am feeling the necessity
to feel hurt when being treated second best.
I have no idea why love always has the first place
in my simple life.

The world is a heap of complexities which perplexes me.

The last one

The spare heart I still had in my wooden chest is out. Without knowing how and when I am already using it and depending my life on its every beat. I guess I wasn´t really ready to wither and fade away.

A delirious delight is what I am feeling at the moment. I don´t know for how long I can use this new heart, that was captivated in a dark box. And the last time I checked, I only had this last one I am now using.

I thought the earth were my mother. I thought she would never had conjured up the seven headed dragon to devour me. But my mother was not the Gaia I thought she was. Underneath she was the Medea I long feared.

My eerie soul is lingering on the quiet desert, searching for some kind of an oasis, where I can find some spells to lead my savior to come to me and bring me back to life.