Neverland

in those merciless hours
when truth and faith collide,
it is not the easiest task
to be Peter Pan.

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Masquerade

at twilight you find me, searching
for the rosy glow of a long forgotten star
that soothes the eye of the beholder
and leaves me with delightful costumes
to unfold.

Technicalities, Submerged.

sitting through this blatant lecture
of how and when and why
i doodle seahorses &
flip my mermaid’s tail – in time
to inward seaweed smiles.

at 8:34am i pray
(through glyphs and flowing ink),
that my hand will always be small enough
to fit into
reality’s gaps.

A Tear in the Fabric

i wish i was a heroine;
companions at my back,

a wizard and a warrior
to help me stay on track.

huge monsters i would slay, no doubt
would fight with sword and shield,

and never falter, never fail,
would never think to yield.

i wish i lived a fairy tale
with dragons in the air,

… but unfortunately, i am just me.
and too much fantasy is frowned upon.
so i will take my vitamins,
my apple a day,
move with the herd,
stay in line
and duck out of sight – behind an office desk.

… or will i?!

Dryad

in the depths of the forest
a pure beauty dwelled
summoning wandering souls

so many a man
went and followed her call
sweet whipsers, taking their tolls

as they basked in her grace
and got lost in her touch
her embrace, so sweet and so warm

they never quite sensed
the strangling vines, encircling,
entangling their form

and so they stood tall
for many a day
their hearts locked firm on her gaze

till their eyes closed at last
souls left mortal form
dreaming of her sweet embrace

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photo credits: barbiedoll.deviantart.com

The Unforeseen

the cockroach
sings
a strange melody
unpleasant
to haunted ears.
the
hem of the gown
drips
mud and blood
on
the filthy carpet.
tick tock
tick tock
tick tock
move the body.
tick tock
tick tock
someone will see…
tick tock
slowly running
out of time.

Hazardous

the demon’s eye
wept
malformed bodies
onto the cold stone floor
writhing,
glazed in black matter,
clawing at
stringy flesh.

the sun went down
and the emptiness took charge,
its minions eager to take hold.

there was nothing left
but the hope
for another
red dawn.

Bloodlust

at the bottom of the pit
the vultures sat
feasting on
bloody bones
and decaying flesh.
the warrior
looked down
on his fallen comrades
raised his bloody axe
towards the dark sky
and cried out
for revenge.

Enigma

statues
sleeping
in the ink-stained dark
fossilized faces
but for living eyes
fiery
sharp
penetrating
fear rises
they may start to see
and
roast
and
sear
the mortal’s attempt
to strike home

Times of Relief

on shimmering wings
the girl took to flight,
uplifted by billowing breeze

feeling small all her life
she struck free of her bonds
no more, being told she’d displease

she lifted her chin
and she soared through the air,
set out to examine the world

and she saw distant shores,
lush, wide grasslands, so green
taking in all the sights as she whirled

after seeing it all,
after sating the need
it was time to go home one last time

all her life she had been
just a shadow, so faint,
just a shade of a joyless old mime

as she sat on her grave,
staring at sullen earth
looking down at the snow and the frost

a sweet sigh left her lips
and she smiled to herself
quite amazed, she was no longer lost

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photo credits: freeimagesarchive.com

The Drowned Man

the sailor set out
on a journey, long-planned
to discover the purpose of being

many days he enjoyed
the turning of tides
valiant, cleansing, freeing

in his dreams she came by
sweet whispers, at first
but soon, she called out to his heart

below water, she dwelled
fluent beauty was hers
and she told him they would never part

time passed in a daze
and the sailor gave in
no longer resisting her call

too tempting she was
to his lonely heart
he decided he would take the fall

and the waters, so cold
took him into their arms
but his love for her burned hot and strong

as the air left his lungs
and her lips touched his cheek
he drowned in her sorrowful song

when he opened his eyes
brilliant smile touched her face
and it answered his heart’s desperate calls

so the beauty, she took
the drowned man by his hand
and they sank to the watery halls

Press-Studs for my Arms

… on random thought, i wish i had press-studs attaching my arms to my body, so i could take them off at night. no matter which way you roll, they are always in the way! and if you decide to power through and to just not care, they’ll eventually start hurting.
why wouldn’t they, hungry for attention as they are… i bet they just don’t understand that nighttime is not their time to shine… as much as we use them during the day, they might feel neglected.
i guess this will always be a wish… i can keep dreaming, right?!

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photo credits: primefastener.com

The Advantage of being able to read

A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies,” said Jojen. “The man who never reads lives only one.

this is what George R. R. Martin said in his latest book ‘A Dance with Dragons’… i would have kissed him for this sentence, had he been available.
isn’t it beautiful to know that so many talented people out there offer you a way to escape your mind – and your life – for a brief period of time? a priceless thought to me… much appreciated. you can roam free through the ages, experience other worlds and long past history as if you were living it… right here, right now… utterly fascinating.
books have been my companions for so many years now, they never failed me, never demanded anything but a little time and attention and never asked for anything in return (except for a little money)… for taking me on magnificent journeys. Imagethey will stay with you forever if you treat them well – a bookshelf, a palpable escape route for the living room. you can break free whenever you want.

the smell of a freshly printed book, the little ‘pop’ when you stretch the binding for the first time, those simple characteristics enrich the experience of reading… essentials an ebook will never be able to get close to. i need the smell and the feel of it, only then will i feel comfortable.

the quote above really made me think. how awful would it be if we weren’t able to communicate our thoughts the old-fashioned way? if books didn’t exist? the -for us- simple fact to express ourselves and, in that way, enrich the lives of others by maybe only a tiny fragment is in my eyes one of the most important abilities a human has to offer. lines on paper painting pictures in your head you would have never seen if it weren’t for the writers brave enough to share their beautiful imagination.

so here’s a shout-out to all the writers out there who, even in the age of the iPad, still stick to the roots and publish real books.
i love you so much.
please continue your wonderful work.

you never cease to amaze me.

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photo credits: farm1.static.flickr.com/51