The day is fed up with light

And the night is fearful of darkness. 

The monsters are advancing, 

Soon a knock will be made. 

The Beast is beautiful, 

I dare, you will slip. 

Behold your comfort, 

For they will scam. 

The radio is preaching, 

As words are swimming

In my ocean of thoughts.  





Sound play

Baby crying



Scared Trauma

Endless coma

Slowly you turn into silence, 


till bad changes the balance


Rains of fire, snow of rocks

Watching match, fall on us

Then you smile three times dancing, 

As i watch you die. 




I have always wanted to be a Ghostwriter. 

Sitting under a tree, listen as stories grow. 

Love passes as hatred sneaks through shrouded. 

I shall study the ability to detect the pretence of man. 

For the Sun is a gossip and nothing is hidden under yet it is an Occult. 

What hope do i have then, 

When silence leaves me hopeless with a Yes or No. 

An answer not brave enough. 

The sin the fathers committed is paid by his Children. 

An unjustifiable act of Nature.. 

A blameless blame, 

The Wickedness of Family, 

The love that hurt. 

This i do not want to listen though i forgive but can not disremember. 

Nature can not deny my memory it’s remembrance of those wonderful bad times… 

When the bird sings all day, 

To have peaceful night. 

Or when the love for man, measured by his Sins. 

Or the Curse to climb a ladder in the dark. 

This is a life of counted time, 

And this things i have always conjured up. 

Once upon a time, 

i used to remember in a dream,

Where stranger meet strangers

Till death wakes you up to Nothingness.