sinking deeper and deeper 

into the black silence;

counting the stars -

milestones of loss,

constellations of mourning;

never-ending fall -

mysterious gravity

of a dying planet

burning somewhere

on the edge of the galaxy of pain…

i close my eyes and imagine

my true face in the soul’s mirror:

i see a gentle animal,


resigned to its fate.

the corridor of waiting

we navigate the labyrinth of illusions with great care -
it seems that someone up there is constantly
shifting, re-arranging its dimly lit corridors,

burning blueprints, erasing signs;
we wait, we turn to stone, we eat the silence, what else is there to do?

and in that slumber of fear

we summon images of a passage to a dreamless winter

we imagine a love that cannot be

we unravel old mysteries

and gain a measure of clarity…

we hope to find the way out;
but aren’t hope and waiting

dark corners of the maze?

isn’t the quest just the universe

deceiving itself?

broken heartbeat

mending the tear -

bridging the gaping abyss -
putting together what’s been
pulled apart -
the ripping sound
some kind of music -
emancipation of dissonance -
the tear itself
turning into a spiral -
perhaps the beginning
of a wing -

or the tip of 

continent hope.

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