There is a moment in the night I know
When moonlight stills the hunger for romance,
When death no longer is where we shall go.
Walk on through this forgotten time by chance
Where rules of others bother us no more.
We can’t be hurt here, so let’s do that dance
As if we never danced, nor lived before.
This special moment in the night is ours.
We have our eyes closed, and some more in store
For when we can not sleep in the wee hours.
While sharing dreams we are where we can’t go
But smell them, smell the sweetest scents of flowers.
We have been here for evenings on a row:
There is a moment in the night I know.
The air, heavy from our unspoken thoughts,
Is hardly fuel for the candle that burns.
We watch the fly climbing the window glass,
Unable to escape unless it turns.
We both feel the burden of our impasse.
You take the swatter; I let the fly out.
The fresh air wipes the wrinkles from my mind.
I want to stay outside in rain, and shout.
Today has no name, the times fall behind.
Now the candle is dead and gone is the rain
We turn into the fly that can’t get out
Unless we move away from our own pain.
There is a waiting in the air,
A summer storm predicted,
The nameless colour of the almost dark –
Ink that will smother us.
All the written words
Will fall on us but not until tomorrow
When the truth will slowly drip:
The drum of angry facts and phrases.
And one by one our friends
Will lose their painted smiles
And sewers will turn into
Nameless dark blue rivers.
And the storm will shake all trees,
Branches, friendships, they won’t stay,
As such is life, when turmoil seas
Give less and take much more away.
But for now the candles burn, all is quiet
That knows nothing, all is waiting innocently
For that water coming down.
For an ancient felt relief.
Born from the earth
Out of blood and dirt
In between wars and arguments
We are driven to escape
From gravity and parents
From doctrine and religion
From schools and peers,
Borders, hurdles, conventions.
Flying over graveyards
Swimming away from shores
Walking on under the moon,
Leaving behind, shaking off
Petals of plastic roses
Feeling the warmth of sand
Returning to real friendships
Always finding our own truth.
You keep on running from an avalanche,
The frozen water is your mother’s voice,
Is what they all want you to do, they yell
And you can only duck away, you have no choice.
In school where you can’t breathe until it’s out,
It’s snowing words back to the chalkboard dust.
The other pupils in conspiracy
Survive. How do they know how to adjust?
The streetbricks shiver when a tank appears
And flowers die in front of marching feet:
The chalkboards crushed, the walls have fallen all,
You stop your running, as there is no need.
Once part of the real world you find a role.
You are the bearer of the lonely soul.
We need rooms, to keep an oversight, and name them. In one room
We have the bookcase. This is the world as we would like,
With comfy chairs and views over the neighbours well-kept garden. Library.
There is a room with no windows
Where we do the things our body requires
but we lowe. Let’s not mention them. Toilet.
There is a room where we sleep.
Where we make love. Dream.
Have nightmares, get babies. Air this one a lot. Bedroom.
When we mix up the rooms, and start to have nightmares in the library,
Sleep in the toilet or do the unmentionable things in the kitchen,
No, it is not time to move to patted walls. We change the room names and go on. Living.
The apple of logic falls, obeying Newton,
Clinging on to the earth.
A massive, irreversible bond
Is growing between them.
But how willing is the apple?
I can pick it up and throw it
Back into the branches.
That is the power beyond
The wise man’s calculations.
And you can add a fallen apple too.