720 hours
30 nights and 30 days
ephemeral, ethereal, ideal
yet over,
as all else,
gone by.

I suppose you
amidst the convulsive coagulations of the mind
Amongst the foot-trodden documents
passively settled on the writing table
with the thick dust coating over their ancient scripts

… Yet, the spider spins its intricate web-trap
the seconds cohesively pass by
and kiss my parched and chipped, thin lips
leaving me with an aftertaste of centuries
as companion.
Yet, the stars still sprightly dance
in the mellow evening dusk.

I am on my own, again, as always...
I feed my own thought-soaked brain
with further, faintly sketched ideals
I look upon time as I have looked upon you
And in both cases I never understood
Either one or the other

For when I’m lost... as now I am
Amongst the variable voids and vortexes
of the desire-loss dimension
When I no longer feel the wind
And breathe the air
When I simply exist,
Meaningless, yet there
like a fine, golden sand grain
in a vast, enormous dune
I somehow can’t join in to create a desert rose...

I am only able to look
through tear-filled coloured contacts
And try to publish another edition of the world
Personal and distorted
But nonetheless real,
to me
For, then again, shall I once more attempt
to define reality and dreams?

For I, perhaps, have dreamt
these past 720 hours
I have imagined a bond of love
… Mistaken…
I thought the silvery, starry light
would still be twinkling
After 30 days,
After 30 nights
… Mistaken…

It got spent, extinguished... it died
a natural yet premature demise
The death of love
Being bereaved of an emotion that never existed?
Ask not me
I know not the answer
For I gave without condition

Yet the harsh, unavoidable rule
- That fairy tales never last
but crumble and dissolve as comet radiance
Once it enters the atmosphere -
Ruled my own poem of love, beauty and life
And brought it to an end.

So, I once again stand on the threshold
Savouring my own salty tears
For I still hold your image in the golden locket
Hanging from that fragile chain around my neck
(Or is it around my heart?)
I still love you
Yet I am lost…
… But I still do
Anton
Your emotions are voiceless.