The Forest

And the forest grew thicker

With each step that I took,

And the howling grew deeper

Of the ghosts and the wolves

As I danced off the path

With my eyes on the moon,

Wild with joy, full of fear,

Not sure whether blessed or doomed;

/

When night clouds hid the moon

From the eyes of my mind,

I reached into my chest,

And my heart as a light,

Beating loud, burning bright,

I took into my hands –

And it showed me the forest

Like no other light had;

/

When the first morning rays

Touched the leaves of the trees

In the forest of time,

Which had enchanted me,

I remembered myself

And walked back to my world,

But since that night I know

What’s a dream, and what’s not

The Runaway Train

Endless rails sing your tale in the rain

And winds chase you aross empty valleys and plains;

Lonesome stations as if retreat into themselves

At no more than a hint of your name;

/

For as long as there’s fire in your metal veins

And ahead of you — space and more space,

You will fly like a dream through the day

Till the dreamer derails you, her runaway train

At the Harbor

I sail away;

There isn’t an anchor

To keep in place

This that no longer has one;

No harbor can contain

The ship, that’s turned

Into the storm, by which

It was all but devoured;

/

I take with me my ghosts

To sing me lullabies

When I cross the horizon

Into the night;

And I take with me my cargo

Of memories,

Which will not slow me now

With their heaviness;

/

I leave for you to play with

Three souvenirs:

My shape, my voice and the name,

By which you knew me;

Maybe, in my stead

You’ll love them unsuspectingly

Or curse them, perhaps, when you sense

That there is something missing;

/

Mine is a cruel joke,

Isn’t it?

Mine is a heartless test

Of your heart;

I do not ask you to forgive

But to laugh with me;

To pass or fail,

But to do so honestly;

/
Trust that

For you I wait

At the horizon

Eternally

Wonderland

A life in ruin,

With every founding brick

Crushed into crimson dust,

Again;

/

To start anew, where

In this frigid, barren land

Do I begin to look for

The strength?

/

Under the moon I

See but pale ghosts

Of what has been,

And miss

/

The things I loved

And thought I knew, but

It seems now like they never

Did exist

/

Under the sun I

See only silver whirlwinds

Of rising dust, and breathe

Them in:

/

I was the one,

Out of whose mind they have escaped,

And so to hide them in my chest

I shouldn’t fear

/

Under the spring rain

I’ll kneel and slowly wash myself

Of everything I used to dream of

And dread

/

So when the skies

Are clear, I can begin to build

Another beautiful but fragile

Wonderland

The Portrait

I draw my thoughts and feelings

On your face,

Imagining they are

Your own,

/

And put such words between your lips

As you would never say;

To me

It matters not

/

That you do not exist

The way I see you:

A book in progress

I complete too soon

/

An empty canvas, which I over-paint

With meaning,

But dry paint cracks, and you emerge –

The true you I don’t know