POEMS

CONTENT WARNINGS

This poem mentions dread-inducing topics such as terminal illness, global warming, and nuclear warfare.

You can close this box by clicking on its title above.

shuffling into the kitchen
after a midday nap, i pour
lemon into my tea and
chastise myself for two spoons of sugar.
i am bone-tired and bleary-eyed.
what time is it?
i should be working.
what day is it?
no matter.
there are so many things i don’t know.
we could be at war with iran right now,
or maybe it’s just the americans,
or maybe somebody else.
i wouldn’t know.
maybe fat man’s little brother is
on his way someplace right now,
maybe to us,
i wouldn’t know.
maybe dad has cancer,
i wouldn’t know.
maybe next year this time
i’ll be in a camp in the country,
or shot in the head in an alley,
or hanging in somebody’s backyard,
or working a job in an office.
i wouldn’t know.
i look at the bottle of wine
we used for fondue at new year’s
and i think about having been
somebody’s mother.
i am tired,
the kind of tired a good sleep can’t fix.
when i was fourteen, i did not want
to make it past twenty-five.
now i am twenty-four,
and the world is on fire, and i must put it out,
and nations are at war, and i must bring peace,
and animals suffering, and i must save them,
and it’s my fault the economy is bad and i don’t even have a proper job yet,
and i don’t even do any sports,
so how am i ever going to get anything done?
i wouldn’t know.
the washing machine is making a racket
my tea’s getting cold on the counter.
what is it like to feel certain?
i wouldn’t know.
i wouldn’t know.

action
over perfection
over complete satisfaction;
fortune favours the bold
sevenfold.

With but a single step begins
A journey of a thousand miles.
Here, where a blistering desert wind -
With but a single step - begins
to tear deep into flesh and skin;
Here, you'll find that which fate beguiles
With. But - a single step begins
A journey of a thousand miles.

A journey of a thousand miles
Begins with but a single step.
One step against thousand denials.
A journey? Of a thousand miles
nine hundred are herculean trials.
And yet, here in this desert steppe
A journey of a thousand miles
Begins - with but a single step.

Show Author's Note

Author's Note coming soon.

I AM
EMPTY, THEREFORE
FILL ME UP;
FILL ME UP, FILL ME UP!
WITH YOUR
PICTURES AND YOUR
WORDS AND YOUR
THOUGHTS,
FILL ME UP!
BRING ME JEWELS,
FINERY, PETS,
FRUIT & CHOCOLATES,
BRING ME STUFF;
BRING ME THINGS THAT I CAN HOLD
BRING ME THINGS THAT I CANNOT
FILL ME UP!
WITH YOUR
SORROWS AND YOUR
BURDENS AND YOUR
ANGER AND YOUR
PAIN, FILL ME UP!
FILL MY LITTLE GOLDEN CUP
FILL ME UP WITH PENS AND BUTTONS
FILL ME UP WITH KNIVES AND LAUGHTER
WITH YOUR BARRELS
AND YOUR BULLETS
AND YOUR BLOOD;
FILL ME UP WITH SEX AND VIOLENCE
FILL ME UP WITH OIL AND CARING
FILL ME UP WITH WASPS AND WATER
I’M STILL EMPTY; FILL ME UP!
FILL ME WITH YOUR RAGING FIRE,
FILL ME TO THE BRIM
AND HIGHER; I’M
AN ENDLESS ROTTEN PIT –
FILL ME UP!
I AM OPEN, I AM HUNGRY,
FILL ME UP!
BRING ME CARPETS, CARS, EXTENSIONS
SCIENCE, GOSSIP, MOVIES, TURTLES,
FOXES, WILDFIRES, BABIES, ANGER,
CEREAL, PLUMBING, POTTERY, GAMING,
KITTENS, MURDER, GEESE, ANXIETY,
POEMS, DAUGHTERS, SHOOTINGS, WALMART,
POLITICIANS, GLOBAL WARMING,
DREAM HOMES, PEA SOUP, PILLOWS, GEMSTONES,
MUSIC, TEDDIES, ANOREXIA,
SHOES AND COAL –
BRING ME ANYTHING YOU FOUND
BRING ME ANYTHING YOU’LL SHARE
AND FILL ME UP –
WITH YOUR PICTURES
AND YOUR WORDS
AND YOUR THOUGHTS
AND YOUR ANGER
AND YOUR CARING
AND YOUR SCREAMS;
I AM OPEN – ALWAYS OPEN –
I AM EMPTY – ALWAYS EMPTY –
FILL ME UP PLEASE DON’T GO – I AM STILL HUNGRY –
FILL ME UP –
WITH YOUR ANYTHING
YOUR ANYTHING
YOUR ANYTHING
FILL ME UP

i should like to see
the hands of those
who have fought a war
and called it worth it

i should like to see
how much blood is on them.

one august night, i held myself
as i would hold a lover.
i recommend you try it;
arms wrapped around my chest
in an embrace
hand slung over my waist
the other
idly wandering across my thigh -
not searching, not conquering,
but roaming known territories,
caressing feather-touches on my skin.
i recommend you try it.
hand heavy on my belly
warm and familiar
i felt so loved that i began to cry.

      
      I WANT TO BE

        FAMOUS

        BRILLIANT

        GORGEOUS

      POWERFUL

      REGAL

      ASSERTIVE

			ELECTRIC

			MAGNETIC

			ROBOTIC AND

			PERFECT.
			
      I AM STILL TRAPPED IN THE FINGERNAIL      SPACE

      BETWEEN THE TWO-WAY MIRROR

      (THAT SHOWS MY GEMINI TWO-FACE)

      AND THE WALL; LIKE
      
      MY MASCULINE DREAMS AND DESIRES AND
      
      THE WOMANHOOD INSCRIBED IN MY BONES.
      
      WHAT DOESN’T KILL ME MAKES ME STRONGER
      
      AND I CAN REALLY PACK A PUNCH, BUT
      
          I’VE BEEN TAUGHT NOT TO WANT.

          I’VE BEEN TRAINED NOT TO HOPE.

          I’VE BEEN TOLD TO SETTLE.

          I CANNOT HELP BUT FEEL
      
      THAT THOSE GLASS SHARDS OF PAST NAMES
      
          AND THEIR SEVEN YEARS OF BAD LUCK
      
      ARE STUCK

          UNDER MY SKIN
      
      BETWEEN THE WALL
      AND

          THE WORLD OUTSIDE

          FOREVER.

      
      the other sun burns through the open blinds

      as I await the late end of this day

      under the glow that does not want to fade
      and wash my face of secrets and

			and wash my face of

			and wash my face of shame

      naked and honest now against this world
      
      and I will melt

      hands and mouth

      hands and mouth

      skin  and  soul

      into a knowing night

i want to kiss boys under olive trees
boys with palms like velours
boys with necks like marble
i want to kiss boys under starry nights
boys with lips like silk
boys who kiss like they’re dreaming
i want to kiss boys under downtown streetlights
in alleys, all wet from the midnight rain
pink blue and yellow neon reflecting
on the black asphalt as the city sleeps
boys that are gentle and kind
boys that are funny and sly
boys with hair like walnut or wheat or coal
i want to kiss boys on seaside beaches
boys who run, boys who swim, boys who doze
boys who laugh with me like the sea gulls
boys who kiss like they’re drowning
i want to kiss boys and i want it to feel
like velvet, like running rice through my fingers, like breathing

i want to kiss boys, but i wonder
if boys who kiss boys would hold my hips
and glide right off their round edges
or taste my lips, which were raised to drip honey,
and find them too sweet for their taste,
and i wonder if boys who kiss girls
will not run their fingertips across
my familiar sandpaper cheeks
and i wonder if boys who kiss boys and girls
will find me uncomfortably neither,
too quiet and loud,
too gentle and mean,
too laid-back and high-strung and solemn and cheery,
too much of an ideal of either
mixed into the failure of both,
my shoulders too broad and too slim,
my waist to thick and too thin
my voice too low and too high
my hips too sharp and too wide.

i have not had a name in so long,
i don’t know what it’s like to be called.
i am so afraid of speaking,
i don’t know how to make myself heard.
i’ve tried so hard not to be seen,
i forgot how to be visible.
i am so far past being a person
i fear someday i’ll walk right out of me
and it’ll make no difference at all.

i want to kiss boys, but i worry
that there’s nothing in me for boys to kiss.
i can barely make out my own shape in the mirror.
i feel so fleeting, i might flicker
in and out like a streetlight.
honey may taste sweet, but my lips
are glued shut from fourteen
failed years of princess school, and now
i want to kiss boys
and i want boys who kiss boys
to want to kiss me
and i want to kiss boys who kiss boys
but i do not know how.

like ashes flies the spume
into the little abandoned houses
knocks on walls and windowsills
peeks in through the cracks
enters through open doors
hello? hello? anyone home?
you can come out now
the war is over
and it has gone all quiet
all quiet

let the rains wash away
all the foulness
all the foulness
and the dread.

how i wish to disconnect,
lie down in these greener pastures,
let my pillows be these asters,
and the meadows
and the meadows
be my bed.

mother nature, take me back
let the mountain fog enfold me,
let the roots and thicket hold me,
this forlorn insomniac,
let my rest my heavy head
in the arms of moss and clover
ivy growing ever over
how i long to return home
to the living
all the living
and the dead.

everything you could ever say has been said
better by someone more interesting than you
and therefore you have come to realise that
your thoughts do not matter. are you even
really a writer when you have nothing to write
about? when you can't even find any words
or read any more than ten pages at a time?
you read the same sentence over again, and
you read the same sentence over again, and
you read the same s over ag same sent, and
you read the sover ga ame sente a eme, and
you read the santen over same sen over, and
you read the
and you still haven't understood the concept

      and so it goes

      he takes the other way

      against the wind

      with silence in his wake

      and stops to wait

      for that which doesn’t come

      in every room

      there is a heart to

      – (01/06/2016)

              he has the

              same  slow

              gold  glow

      blinding  sunlight   laugh

      burns  through  your  skin

              like  fire

      into your neck  and  hands

      an itch you can’t  scratch

      you feel          electric

               all over

      – (17/06/2016)

      today,  rather than to make him fly

      today, give this young one heaven

      between dirtyminded highs

          and clearheaded lows

      fill this space with voices touches smiles

          and dizzydrunk honeysweet chaos

      let him listen look lie lose    and live

      let him listen look lie lose    and live

      let him sing sigh kiss cry fall and float

      let

      let the wine   be his to   find and taste

      let the wine   be his to   find and taste

      let the days   be his to   take and have

      for after the rest,

      for after or so we think to know

      there will never be such poetry again.

      – (20/06/2016)

      fly and get burned

      I did not take off

      but I’m on fire

      – (unknown date)

      here comes the sun

      to burn the world away

      our future is on fire

      in daylight we melt like ice

      in nightshade there are

      electric mystic magic music wonders

      a tongue for a record

      a million a minute

      another angel glowing from the mouth

      goes back to heaven

      sing his gold poetry and listen

      again this hell explodes

      I tremble

      my time is almost up

      I wake with regret but always lose to shame

      and hesitate, steal looks, and feel the same

      all kisses taste like honey

      baby boy, I am dizzy and I’m blue

      for what it’s worth:

      I wish it would be you 

      – (30/08/2016)

      it’s never silence

      always late night black dreams

      when your neon heart is glowing

      and your electric smile

      comes out to play

      scratch it off the record, baby

      that’s music to my ears

      there is no future in this city

      only poetry and the burning sun

      but between my mouth

      and your hands

      we can make magic

      – (18/09/2016)

      we lie waiting

      and make our beds

      from halfhonest dreams

      about the future 

      – (21/01/2017)

      notice how

      notice but in heaven it’s easy to stand

      notice but in

      notice but in space you always float

      – (16/06/2017)

      eat dinner out of respect for god

            you cowardly fool

      – (16/06/2017)

      the other sun burns through the open blinds

      as I await the late end of this day

      under the glow that does not want to fade
      and wash my face of secrets and

			and wash my face of

			and wash my face of shame

      naked and honest now against this world
      
      and I will melt

      hands and mouth

      hands and mouth

      skin  and  soul

      into a knowing night

      – (02/06/2017)

      your mess is as good as mine

      – (14/09/2017)

              listen, kid

          I’m up to my neck in bubble pants here

      I am playing the shame game like a

                     plastic fruit party on fire

      – (14/09/2017)

      
      today,  rather than to make him fly

      today, give this young one heaven

      between dirtyminded highs

          and clearheaded lows

      fill this space with voices touches smiles

          and dizzydrunk honeysweet chaos

      let him listen look lie lose    and live

      let him listen look lie lose    and live

      let him sing sigh kiss cry fall and float

      let

      let the wine   be his to   find and taste

      let the wine   be his to   find and taste

      let the days   be his to   take and have

      for after the rest,

      for after or so we think to know

      there will never be such poetry again.

here comes the sun
to burn the world away
our future is on fire
in daylight we melt like ice

in nightshade there are
electric mystic magic music wonders
a tongue for a record
a million a minute

another angel glowing from the mouth
goes back to heaven
sing his gold poetry and listen
again this hell explodes

I tremble
my time is almost up
I wake with regret but always lose to shame
and hesitate, steal looks, and feel the same

all kisses taste like honey
baby boy, I am dizzy and I’m blue
for what it’s worth:
I wish it would be you

it’s never silence
always late night black dreams
when your neon heart is glowing
and your electric smile
comes out to play
scratch it off the record, baby
that’s music to my ears
there is no future in this city
only poetry and the burning sun
but between my mouth
and your hands
we can make magic

CONTENT WARNINGS

This poem contains descriptions of depression symptoms.

You can close this box by clicking on its title above.

in an unexpected turn of events,
i found sleep.
we are good friends now.
he waits for me on couches and in beds
hugs me tight and doesn’t let me go.
we are good friends.
sometimes we will be joined by dreams
dreams who tell such spectacular stories
dreams who talk of monsters and murderers,
of labyrinths impossible to escape
of doppelgangers, of fires, car crashes, beasts.
dreams who speak of the devil,
who tell it so well i can see the red feather,
feel the end of his staff burning into my chest.
they are good friends.
sleep is a good friend. during the day,
sleep lulls me into a numb state of being.
sleep never really leaves, is always around.
sleep makes me late, sometimes.
sleep makes me dull.
but i’ve been told, so many times,
about lost sleep, about the sleepless nights,
about rest and relaxation. sleep is a good friend.
i’ve been told, and he is always there,
in every one of my dazed, slow heartbeats.
what else could i have done
but befriend him?

the second summer will never be
as hot as the first.
so i hope that your corneas
didn’t get burnt
with the imprint of the person
i was a summer ago.

my head is
a bird before its wings
and whilst my
feathers are rumpled, i swear
to god
i will swear to no god;
mankind has fallen ill
and there aren’t enough flowers in the world
to cover the sunken eyes of fallen friends
i stretch my fingers
because i want to touch stars i’ve never seen
and walk on planets unheard of,
instead i
i
drown
in oceans, tears from
children that were and are
me
i yearn for the colour of laughter but
my head is a bird
before its wings

do not touch the water
that is running through my veins.
it seems shallow, shimmering
until you tip-toe dip inside
and it becomes a vicious ocean;
beware of the sharks in its depths,
beware, beware - they eat
everything. sometimes even the fishes they swim with,
sometimes even themselves,
sometimes. everything
in these waters is dangerous, or dreadful, or dying.

do not drink from the spring
that flows from my lips,
it runs in a river, babbling softly
jumps in joyful waves like little animals do,
but it is poisonous,
poisonous, don’t you hear me -
it is a menacing flood
it will drag you down, make you drown, it will
it will clash you against stones and rocks until
you break, it will -

but most of all, please
do not bathe in the lake
that pools in my eyes,
that gleams in the silver moon and shines in the golden sun,
that is tranquil in the evening lights;
because if you, i fear, waded deep enough
dragged your feet through its muddy ground
all the way to its mid
i fear, you would
feel the cold grey water around your calves
and see:
it is barely a drop on a lifeless soil.

love sings a lullaby for those who weep
and comforts those who grieve and those who fear
with dreams, and makes their troubles disappear.
in but a heartbeat’s time
love puts a restless man to peaceful sleep.

be still, my rabbit-heart, escape no more,
for that which clings to you is not a threat
but sweet relief from pain. my soul, don’t fret:
in but a heartbeat’s time
it shows you how to praise and to adore.

love grows a tree, a shelter for your soul
a sanctuary for your fragile chest
a place to put your heavy head to rest
in but a heartbeat’s time
it captures you and then engulfs you whole.

but when you fall from love, love lets you fall
into a world of sirens shrill that chase
you in police cars at a dizzying pace -
in but a heartbeat’s time
love leaves you on the ground and lets you crawl,

love fights with fire, love hits below the belt,
love fractures dreams with stark sobriety
and leaves you trembling with anxiety.
in but a heartbeat’s time
love shatters every heartbeat you have felt.

Does not love inspire?
Does it not inspire the greatest of them all,
the poets and writers,
the singers and dancers,
the painters and sculptors?
Does it not inspire the thinker’s thoughts,
and the artist’s art?

Does not love motivate?
Does it not motivate the smallest who treads on earth,
the next-door and from-across-the-street,
the lady-with-the-hat and man-with-a-dog,
the me and the you?
Does it not motivate the worker to work,
and the dreamer to dream?

Does not love ignite?
Does it not ignite every fiber of a human being,
the heart and the head,
the chest and the stomach,
the fingers and toes?
Does it not ignite every muscle to burn with feeling,
every vein to thrum with passion?

So inspire me, love
so motivate and ignite me,
for I am not burning with your feeling,
nor am I thrumming with your passion,
but left in your ashes I am,
trapped in the ruins of my former vibrant body,
i lying in the corner of my room and
from my dying heart flows an
endless stream of tepid blood, barely warm enough to
keep my pulse steady like clockwork

and not a second, not an eyelashes’ bat passes without
a thought of you
a thought of you
like clockwork
a thought of your hand
on my skin
of your lips
on my cheek
barely even there
like it was yesterday
but yesterday was an era away
and I am left alone
for tomorrow
but tomorrow lasts a millenium
like clockwork
like clockwork

like clockwork
but broken, lying
in the corner of an endless
stream of tepid blood, and not
a second passes
not a second passes
not a second
barely enough to keep my ashes but tepid
like clockwork
like clockwork
like clockwork

and continuously
and continuously comes
and continuously comes
like clockwork
comes a thought of
like clockwork
Does not love inspire?
Does not love motivate?
like clockwork
Does not love ignite?
like clockwork
like clockwork
like clockwork

nine rules for living with your monsters

1. keep your room clean and wide, avoid dark corners to hide away in.
2. don’t skip steps on stairs, and never look behind you until the last step.
3. before you hoover under your bed or clean out your closet, make sure to knock and wait a few seconds.
4. sharing is caring: keep your bed literature well accessible on the mattress or the ground next to your bed.
5. a disarming smile into the mirror will keep unwelcome guests out of the corners of your eyes.
6. wear flowers in your hair or your buttonholes as often as possible.
7. speak in a confident, yet warm and cheerful tone to create a familiar atmosphere.
8. if a tired, cold monster stands at your bedside and looks at you, let it sleep at your feet's end, but don’t let it take up too much space.
9. introduce them to your friends one at a time when you have them over for tea. when they get to know each other, make sure both behave themselves politely.

remember: all monsters are different. yours will have odd behaviours in coming and going and staying. no monster will leave quickly on its own, most will stay or revisit you for a long time, if not your entire life; but creating a pleasant atmosphere will help to enable a harmonic living and working together.

Once upon a far-gone time, I cried.
I shed my tears, for birds of the same feather
had stopped to sing and gone to die together
on walls up high. It was a dreadful sight.

They spread their wings and burst out of their flock,
their birdsong nothing but a desperate screaming,
hoarse, loud, and shrill, but empty in its meaning,
as, one by one, they flew into the block.

These birds, despite their pulchritude, were blind:
The air they breathed became their reasoning,
not reasoning their air. Their broken wing
could fly merely as high as their own mind.

I wept upon their numerous deaths that night,
for one of those poor birds might have been me:
Blinded by bright belief, too vain to see
the barrier hidden in a faulty light.

CONTENT WARNINGS

This poem contains descriptions of blood and sexual violence.

You can close this box by clicking on its title above.

take from the feast
eat with delight
but know, child
that my damaged old eyes see
nothing but blood
blood, gushing out of a man’s heart for his country
blood, gushing out of a man’s chest for his men
blood, gushing out from between a woman’s legs
on her period, or when she gives birth
or when the men come and take her
blood, and soak the trees’ roots with
blood, drowning the people’s dreams in
blood
my old damaged eyes see
nothing but blood and
children’s shoes
so take from the feast
but know, child
that my old damaged eyes see
nothing but blood
on you.

CONTENT WARNINGS

This poem contains descriptions of blood and violence.

You can close this box by clicking on its title above.

sometimes, my dear
i am violent for nothing.
not for a cause, not for a reason,
just for myself.
sometimes i drag my hyena teeth
through an innocent bystanders flesh
and smile with a screaming red mouth,
tasting the blood on my tongue,
and say: “watch me fight.
i tore apart a man with these claws.
i slaughtered a king with these hands.
i once destroyed an army with a single roar,
and within a breath, i’ll do it again.
watch me fight. watch me win.
you, and you, and them, and those,
you are nothing like me,
and you couldn’t hurt me if you tried.
i am a lioness,
strong for a dozen, sharp for a thousand,
a queen;
i’ll have you lick my wounds when every deed is done
till then i’ll bleed, until my fight is won.”
sometimes i say these things,
to no one and to everyone at once.
sometimes i walk away, my head held high
eyes just an inch above the fog i breathe,
blood dripping from my lips
onto my naked feet, onto my muddy path.
sometimes it makes me cough up a laugh
when i watch an innocent bystander crawl.
because sometimes, my dear,
i am violent for nothing.
i hate it.

As we near the end,
Poets of the past and dreamers of the future standing
On the streets of
Cities, bright ablaze with hellish fire;
As we near the end,
Let us look above at all the stars
Young and old, afraid and full of hope, let’s
Part from earthly bounds and enter
Space, which welcomes us in final
Endlessness.

from a dreamer to another
runs a bond so strong and bold,
made from songs and stories told
by a child's heart, or a lover's:
from a dreamer to another
shall, in silence, secrets wander,
dreams, over which dreamers ponder
with a child's mind, or a lover's.

CONTENT WARNINGS

This poem contains allusions to abusive relationships.

You can close this box by clicking on its title above.

He will be fickle at heart, she told me
And graceless at night. He will
Bury his nose in your shoulder
And burden himself with the dead weight
Of hurting you when he shouldn’t
And soothing you when he can’t.

He will be selfish and cruel, she told me,
And great-souled and utterly noble
And heroic and mindful.
You will love him in all his ignorance
Of your wounds when you’re aching
And your assets when you’re strong.

He will be all that, she told me, and more
And so much more to you.
You will see his devotion and his persistence
His shattered heart and his breakable soul,
His benevolent self-destruction and his martyrdom.
You
You will see him entirely
And you will not know
That you are blind.

Triff mich dort, wo tausend Engel tanzen,
ihre Zehen in den Boden graben
und an Freud' und Tränentrank sich laben,
wo sie Hoffnungen und Träume pflanzen.

Triff mich dort, wo flüssig heiß entspringt,
wovon ein jeder Menschenleib sich nährt:
dieser Bach, der sich mit Rauschen kehrt
und im Takt sein Lied vom Leben singt;

triff mich, wo er mündet. Triff mich dort;
im Ursprung des Geästes, das sich windet,
zum Rande und noch endlos weiter fort,
und im Anfang wieder sich verbindet -

Triff mich
ins Herz.

CONTENT WARNINGS

Dieses Gedicht enthält Beschreibungen von Tod, Leichen und starken Schmerzen.

Dieser Hinweis lässt sich durch einen Klick auf seinen Titel oben schließen.

Da liegt er, leblos, wie eine leere Hülle
Ein Schatten seiner selbst, blass, wie vergiftet
Die fahlen Augen ohne jede Fülle
Die aschengraue Haut völlig zerklüftet.

Vielleicht schwebt nun sein Geist über uns allen
Und hütet Sohn und Mutter, mich und dich.
Vielleicht versucht er uns noch zu gefallen,
Vielleicht zählt diesseits, jenseits für uns nicht.

Ich bin nur froh, ihn endlich nicht mehr leiden
Vor Schmerzen elend schreiend ihn zu seh'n
Wie sehr versuchte ich dann, ihn zu meiden.

Jetzt liegt er friedlich, still auf seiner Stätte
Ganz weiß, vom Totentuche nur bedeckt,
So grau und leer, wie er es gerne gesehen hätte.

Excuse me, Madam, Sir, is this
By any chance, perhaps, your kiss?
It may have simply slipped your minds
With all your dates and leave-behinds
And get-to-nexts and dos and don'ts
And all your shalls, shan'ts, wills and wont’s.
Not yours? Well, take it anyway.
Or save it for another day!
Or blow it towards the sky and send
it away to find other ladies and gents.

The Lambledwaine is beautiful
Bright golden are his eyes
Of spotless white his hair and shoes
And perfect his disguise.

The Lambledwaine seems quite polite,
He’s knocking at your door
And not until you ask him to
His feet will tread your floor.

The Lambledwaine knows how to tell
A fairytale, a story
His eyes will flicker in the light
as he tells of fame and glory.

The Lambledwaine will ask you what
You wish with all your heart
And when you tell him what you wish,
His chuckle will be smart

“I am the one”, he’ll say to you,
“To make your dream come true.
It’s easy for me, though I’d want
A small reward from you.”

When in agreement you reach out
And shake his ice-cold fingers,
He’ll kiss your head - and then is gone
Only his chuckle lingers.

And when you go to bed at night,
What you wished for comes true.
But you feel cold, you can’t enjoy -
So, what’s it worth to you?

What you desired belongs to you
But you know you’re mistaken
For your warmth, your feelings, your happiness
The Lambledwaine has taken.

There are, what I believe to be
Sounds, clear and steady in my mind
Those sounds I cannot hear nor see
Nor can I grasp their kind.

I simply feel them, they are here
Disturb me lovingly with all their might
They weaken and they strengthen me, I hate and fear
And yet I love what ails me day and night

Like spaceships from a distant planet odyssey
I don't know what the are, they're dear to me
The make me hear when I am deaf and see when I am blind

They put a weight upon my shoulders I can't bear
So loud and yet completely nonexistent in my ear
A sound that makes me believe there is no wrong and right.

INKSHRIKE