Untitled

Gospel of Lukas

As a number of attempts

have been made to put together

in order an account of those

events which took

place among us,

as I were handed down

to you by those who

saw you from the first and

were preachers of the thought,

It seemed good to me,

having made observation, 

with great care,

of the direction of events 

in their order, to put the facts

in writing for you, the deepest sky! 

So that you might have certain

knowledge of those things 

Look the skies darkness up above

As living without you

but with you and for you.

Something

I still hope and survive

the day and again the next.

lonely in the mass

I dont understand the words

just

my self. I'm talking to you

with silent whispers.

I'm staring at the Moon

I guess the treasure

I want

to find a hole in a gateway

in parallel truths

no other way to be you

every day standing in

your truth

we need is love and love is all

The Moon and the Yew Tree

"This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary

The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.

The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God

Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility

Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place.

Separated from my house by a row of headstones.

I simply cannot see where there is to get to.

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,

White as a knuckle and terribly upset.

It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet

With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.

Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky --

Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection

At the end, they soberly bong out their names.

The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape.

The eyes lift after it and find the moon.

The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.

Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.

How I would like to believe in tenderness -

The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,

Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.

I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering

Blue and mystical over the face of the stars

Inside the church, the saints will all be blue,

Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,

Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.

The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.

And the message of the yew tree is blackness - blackness and silence."

..How did I await you?

You want me to say?

Sure, as when nights do end,

that sunrise will be soon,

and that the dusk's descent

will seal the afternoon,

as when the breezes warn

that a storm is near -

from a thousand signs,

I knew you'd soon be here.

As on spring-time mornings

one knows the sun will rise,

as on frosty evenings

gloss forms on the ice,

as an apple's flavour,

bread, milk... you can tell -

though I had not seen you,

yet I knew you.

As does light the shade and

do blossoms the rain,

as creeks do their courses,

branch yields birds terrain,

and trees on sigh-filled summer nights

know the fully sky

so I loved you, more than the rest:

I have chosen you I was also for you you've gendered me In twisty mass of people. I became with you who I am

And you fill me as light the hall, as the silence fills of the hole.

The repeating lesson for bushes are chilled

Do you remember briar the autumn and the summer? How much did you cry waiting for a warm rain? Oh, how much did you cry for a bright sun, And whatever it was a little dolor-sorrow or damage!

Now! When your branches are pulled by snowballs Your straining frozen waist is tired In your bald crown a wind bird's nest. There is a lair where sleepy star can look in!

..

Flash

It's hard for me to say, There's nothing to forgive I never cannot forget She I told you when left me.

Let her go away She can't be never yours As when the walls Came crumbling down It was so beautiful.

I'm alone. And when you come

I'll be the one who's still alive

Feathers in an empty room