The impotent nights
garbage in my head.
Someone playing a waltz in a guitar.
The red lights,
a glimmer of short eruption.
It’s a strange time when we know we are not the only one,
and I hope there will still be poetry after this and after me where people can find salvation in their search.
People on the roads walking just because they can’t afford this idea of redemption and fear,
and still the sunsets at the uncertain horizon keep them dreaming, keep them going miles like true soldiers.
Yes, soldiers.
look outside and you will see that nothing has changed,
the trees still rustle,
the myst still evaporates
and the waves still touch the shore with their nude hearts.
If there is death then it must be in the way people try to forget it.
Far away a lighthouse still shines in the hope to see a vigilant ship,
there must be a way to be like that lighthouse,
still searching in its culmination.
Now find yourself,
unfold the demon,
nights are there so are the dwelling shadows…
attainment is a lot about killing and having the strength to be killed everyday…
Though this night must not be going anywhere.