the modern family

I had a dream, least it seems a dream to me now. Of a time lost, a past forgotten and of summer.

I dreamt my granddad was still alive to keep my brother in check, and my granny didn't grieve. He'd tend the garden and she would read.  My mother took long trips in the forest, and met up with her friends, daring to brave the frights of her mind. Our dog was barking away and we didn't morn her. Dad wasn't pestered about going out with his friends every now and then. I had a brother that hadn't broken his back and hadn't started smoking. His goal was to become a great football player. He was good, and he had a mind for maths also. My sister, she wasn't in the dream. I suppose it was before I learnt of her. And before my father became a grandfather. He always did like children.

Ruins. Debris. In ruins and debris.
Was it ever real?

Altzheimer and sorrow is eating away the brilliance of grannie's brain. Mum have dilutions and worries of my absent, self-centred, childish, stubborn, proud, to-good-to-grow-up-30year-old big brother. And my father is left mending the fuses as best he can. They all grieve.

To stubbornness, ignorance, intolerance and loneliness, I awoke. It seems unclear to me now. All I recall is shrouded in mist and mystery. Bits and pieces of whence I was alive.

Green leafs

A small town sets the stage.
In a troubled time, in a secluded place.
The rare action never seem to fill these once disputed streets.
People go about their life, rushing home from work and school.
Some have already gone home and others emerge for an evening drink.
There they meet in the autumn chill, where snow lay days previous.
One with blushed cheeks and the other with an averted gaze.
The glow on their skin can be seen from across the street.
The terrifying reality that this may go array lights the darkness.
But the hope of two lonely hearts screams out for a suitable ear to hear.
Can you hear it in the wind?
I wish I could...
The ghost of lovers past seem to haunt my waking hour.
I wonder if I could relive those first moments when the gaze rise to see my eyes.
A gaze meet by nervousness, hope and yearning for an other puzzle fitting in with your own board game.
Baggage it will entail but so will my own hand be loaded with debris.

If only I wasn't as inpatient, maybe that person wouldn't pass me by?
Work and work, is and will be fuelled by egoism growing into cynicism as the days pass into years...

A writing frenzy

I wouldn't live with a heart that was yours.
Now there is stories that goes their way
These are the ones that will deceive you,
I know
So take it from me and go home

Tradadadidida

These are the words that will hunt you
Take it from me and leave now that you can
That was the moment and now it has past
I wouldn't live with a heart such as yours

Dadadadidida

These are the rhymes that will follow you
They will hunt you, I know, hunting you home
So leave while you can
These are the words that will follow you home
Take it from me and leave while you can

Arrival

I never said the journey would form you
It will change you but never shape you
I never said it would be easy knowing me
You knew, very well who I was
Now recite me if you can.
I never said I'd be truthful
but nor did I tell you a lie
I never said life is easy, nor the journey's end without a hope
all the people and the faces - the faces you must leave behind
on your way.
And nor did I ever say I'd never say goodbye.

home is where the heart lies

They say you can never find love until you love yourself. But what does that mean, or even imply? I mean; does loving oneself imply that there is no self doubts or that one never feel insecure - or is there any room for self awareness and critic at all? And if so, how much of doubting or awareness does it take to cross over? These are just a few questions I think about when I hear the saying.

However I do realise that loving one self, might simply imply that one love life and is content and comfortable in one's own skin. To be content, perhaps. But not necessary void of wanting self improvements. Besides the outside world can never truly see what is going on inside someone's mind, nor can the outside understand completely how we feel. I suppose we need love to grow, but we need self awareness to move on - if only to avoid pigheadedness and the notion of indifference.

Share in one life time

On the day it knows
when in fever it remains
the Donna she will rise
And carelessly lift her eyes
seeing is a curse
the blessing of the sight
known only of a few
Helios will be the name of tongues
semper mea brevis

Do ut res

On my way I go, where the children play.
On I go, hear the children play.
And I'm going home from a place so warm.
To the northern fields where the winter roam.

Goodbye , to all you Romans. I am going home.
Home to where the Norfolk play a barbarian tune.
Where the nordmanns roam the snow, and valkeries our forests.
There's trolls in these mountains...
Here the wind it blows, and the light is gone.
We roam...

Fair haired, fair skinned, but in our eyes a ferocity is felt.
Cause be them green, blue or ice, brown, dark or light.
In our eyes a nation lives
whom knows not but the bliss of blizzards, hide to cold and night to day.
The wind far up there in the north, and the mountain winds it speaks.

december light

The first of December.
The month a student want to pass quickly.
And a child wishes never ends.

The Norse wish for high and strong Hjul snow.
While the Irish mope for calm seas.

Lights are alight to day.
Shed a light in the darkness, and someone might see.
people stress and worry, yet now is the time they do say please and sorry.

As I spoke

Like a flame - life flickers.
It brings what it desires.
It gives what it sees.
It licks the very fabric of space for its needs.

Proposito umquam iterum amoritur?

Timed!

They fought a lot.
Driven by hatred, and the unkind bitterness.
Though deep down I know, they loved one an other,
once.
But life brought her ignorance into fear,
and his brilliance into despair.
And they drifted.
I know, now I know.