angel3

Everywhere and all around us

the heartbeat of the universe;

pounding air and silver dust so thick

you can’t see. In our ears the rhythm of drums,

our ruptured veins still pulsing with scarlet sound

and frozen tears that fall from our broken faces

fill the ocean with ice denser than water

and all the while the heartbeat of the universe,

in our hands, in our bodies, in our souls

faster and faster into the memory

of our existence.

Last Kiss

Angel

Lukas is a shadow against the sunset, still, motionless like the statue of a fallen Greek god. He scans the ground below us with a slight crease in his smooth forehead, “are you sure this is the right place?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I am not sure about anything anymore.”

He shakes his head, and keeps on walking, his same, unceasing brisk pace. I climb down carefully behind him, my knees slightly bent, my arms stretched out on either side of me for balance. The cliff is steep, and my converses keep slipping on the jagged rock.

I stop for a moment, waiting for my breath to even out. A dense coopery sun hangs low in the horizon spilling thousands of golden sparkles onto the ocean. In front of me Lukas does the same. I notice his foot tapping impatiently on the rock he is standing on and I force myself to keep on going.

When I catch up to him he slows his steps to match mine. His muscles are taut, his jaw rigid, the crease in his forehead even deeper. I touch his arm, and I can feel the tension underneath release a little. He smiles, the corners of eyes crinkling. “I never excepted it to be like this.”

“What did you expect it to be like?”

“I don’t know. Just not like this.”

The ocean fills our senses now. The only sounds are the rhythmic crashing waves and the soft crunch of sand beneath our feet. Our slowing heartbeats. A mild breeze ripples through my hair, fragranced with salt and ancient summers. The ocean has lived many years. Lukas crouches down to untie his shoes. Once he has taken them off he places them neatly next one another, facing the ocean. I mirror him; placing my red converse next his grey.

Others come onto the shore, climbing down from the cliffs like we did, or appearing from the dense thicket of trees. Their voices are colors; silent whispers of pale yellows, and soft magentas, swirling in the air in clouds of glimmering dust. Their bodies are blurred, not quite there and not quite here. Only their eyes are vibrant, alive in their forgotten faces. The sun drowns in their indigo depths.

 

We take little notice of these figures; we feel their presence like a quickly dismissed afterthought, something no longer of great importance. We shield our eyes squinting. Just below the sun, where the sky drowns into the ocean, a thick white mist shimmers in a fixed location resembling an island of foam, or else a gathering of clouds that float on the water.

Lukas takes my hand in his, its warmth reminding me of the first summer we spent together, all those star filled nights. His green eyes had been incandescent, glowing in the quiet darkness that was scented slightly of citrus. His green eyes are still beautiful, but forlorn somehow, riddled with dark blue specks. He traces my collarbone with his index finger and when he kisses me it is with a soft pressure. It feels like a memory even before it is over.

The others observe us, their pearly white bodies, flickers at the corners of our eyes. We hold each other’s hand as we walk toward the ocean; fingers laced together, but when the first icy wave licks our toes our fingers drift apart slowly like within a dream. The water welcomes each of us alone.

 

 

 

Forgotten

Living in a life

already forgotten

 

everywhere emptiness exists

like growing oceans

blue and endless

rising above the drowning

land

 

in the distance the echoes

of grey sunsets resound

like an impending storm

 

everywhere dusty figures weave

through gaps of thought

step from broken mirrors

and blurry photographs

to stare and scrutinize

 

a mass of translucent shadows

unseen and unheard

but existing

like the emptiness

like the forgotten

that is everywhere

DolphinsIn her eyes

oceans glitter

a blue

like frozen sapphires

and lost happiness

like colorful dolphins

swim on the surface

without

touching her soul

lion23

The sun; captured now in our burning sky used

to be bright with pale flames that danced in golden

showers on our turning world; a glittering

luster on beautiful turquoise waters;

a vivid pulsing red now in the center of our sun;

a fire endlessly hungry; consuming the sky

around it, swallowing the day and the night

with scarlet inebriation, giving rise to indigo

shadows, full of the same ceaseless craving,

burn our world with golden sight.

Forgotten

we have been forgotten

our names faded and vanished

like writing on sand

we exist in silence now

in the moments no one hears

the sound between the crashing waves

when a sunset disappears into the ocean

UnderwaterTime

Above me the world,

slowly slipping away into the

depths of I sky I once belonged to

 

I can see it grower fainter, smaller

only a dim light in the endless black

of swirling atmospheres.

 

Heavy blue penetrates my lungs,

turns solid next to my heart,

my frozen veins, glitter electric violet

through translucent skin.

 

Bright and endless, a fall of thousands

of years or no time at all but the

absence of time for I can no longer hear

the ticking in my soul.

DesertVoices

Now that everything has gone silent.

You can here them. The clocks are ticking.

In a forest filled with wilting roses. Broken

birds decaying in between the weeds. A

starving creature somewhere in the middle

of a desert, desolate and cold. In the ocean

a whale, whose dark swollen shape hangs

suspended in blue. The black center of

a scarlet flower. Captured in the sky a frozen sun.

And from inside you the same ticking;

the one that has always been there

but you never heard because you were busy

listening to other things. Now that everything

has gone silent in the moment you can hear it.

The ticking in your soul.

Dust

butterfly21

Somewhere a butterfly. Luminous, orange,

part of the sun, a shadow of a soul,

an echo of a heartbeat, fragments

of things that once existed, now pieces of death.

Only dust remains.

Lips stained grey with dying syllables

and unspoken prose. Skin through which

the world glitters, an endless gnarled forest

thick with the same moonlight fog. A rustling,

breaths that bleed, black drips from ruptured veins

into a broken body.

Only dust remains.

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