I loved the world to die in flames;
I loved it, without face or names.
Its eyes of darkness cast on me,
I loved them, for they couldn’t see.

I loved the roses that were dying,
I loved the children that were crying.
Each and every drop of tear,
I loved it, for it wasn’t clear.

Why do we love all that is broken?
Why do we love what can’t be woken?
It is just a dream of ours,
That we’ll be buried with those flowers.

Black boxes

There’s a vault of boxes in the back of my mind,
Many black boxes that within keep confined
All the pain, and the fear, the tears,
Rows building up over years and years
Out of the things I needed to push aside
So I’d keep taking the world in stride.
It might not be healthy, but it’s usually simple
To brush away things like a wayward wrinkle –
It rarely happens, like it did for this one
That they want to fight back, and then try to run.
It might take a while, stuffing it in place
But one way or another it’s fitting the case
It makes the other boxes restless, however
As they brush their ashes and struggle like never.
It’s just a little earthquake, nothing too tough,
It only can make the days bleak and nights rough.
But when it stops, nothing would have broken at the seams –
I’ll just laugh louder for a while to cover the screams.
It’s not sadness, exactly, you see in my eyes.
It’s more like emptiness, for when the lids rise
I don’t have the time to pick through the things
That go in the boxes before I close the springs –
I’d rather end up locking away bits and pieces
Than discover that one of the boxes misses.
You might not understand why this is such a pain
It should be a thought easy to unravel and reign
The problem is that some boxes carry a glimmer,
Something that makes them riot and simmer,
Because, you see, their nightmare is hope
Rather than things you’d hang by a rope.
It’s the most terrible thing to fight against –
For everything else you’re angry, incensed
But hope, when things shout, knows how to sing,
And it makes it impossible for me not to cling –
Instead of fighting its restraints, knows to soften
And makes me break my own nails on its coffin.
So pray for me. Pray that, for a while
You’ll forget you’ve ever seen me smile,
Just until I find other things to smile for
Until I know I have the strength to not open that door.

Moments of Only Once

It has once been the sweetest smell,
To bring forth smile of the fresh-cut roses,
When waiting for my life to ring the entrance bell,
To open up Pandora’s box and see what it encloses.

But I forgot its taste and place,
Caught in the rustling of world’s silken skirts,
And when I tried to peek through time and space,
I’ve found on it’s been placed a curse.

All I could see through layers of such sweetness
Was, sickening, the feel of sugary decay.
Inside old strength I found my hidden weakness –
It changed so fast, so final, without lost time to play.

I’ve found this logic in my hidden thoughts,
That every sweet, hot spiking moment of the time,
If tried again it falters, chills and rots,
Designed to be felt only once, sweet crime.

From peaks and valleys, getting sick to walk,
The one to stand long moments in the heath
Is the straight way of only solid rock;
It’s peace, carrying the same, upwards, beneath.

Red Shoes

A shiny pair of red shoes
Forgotten in a corner.
In them I sometimes find my muse,
In their varnish armour.

How time would pass the pointy end:
Though shining still,
They somehow always get to blend
Forgotten on a window sill.

How can eyes wash over their scarlet
Hidden in the dusty past
When they’d’ve been worn by any starlet
If time wasn’t so fast.

And now, they’re just a dusty outline,
Colour melting into gray,
A faded sight, and feel, sometime divine…
How dull is this new day!