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Old photo

Come have a look at how it was to be:
The quietness and turquoise walls, a day
In sunshine never ending, you and me.

This photo shows it all and let us see
The colours of our love when it was May.
Come have a look at how it was to be

When both of us expected either way
We would be blessed for our eternity
In sunshine. Never ending. You and me.

The image, ruined by perfect stains of tea,
Has nothing more to add, no more to say.
Come have a look at how it was to be.

Our days have been, time is a referee.
We both seek shelter, hide in fear and pray
In sunshine, never ending you and me.

The photo you tore up deliberately
Shows ghosts, who, now it is our time to pay,
Come have a look at how it was to be
In sunshine. Never ending. You and me.

What we remember

Rounder than a full moon but just as pale
Is this perfect memory of feelings
Nailed on the wall of time, framed in golden,
Watercolours fading in each other
The almost white pink of our tenderness,
The blueish green of mornings without you,
An image of all we thought was forgotten.
But the nail is squeaking in the evening breeze
And one day the wall will let go of everything.

Making memories fly

Our thoughts hanging over us,
invisible text balloons, colliding, flirting,
some of yours mating with mine,
and new thoughts are born.

They will once set off into life,
freed cage birds,
no longer intertwined in our speech, gone
with more and more blue skies in between.

You have a way with words, I say
and I think you know what I mean,
as your hands are a bird now,
flying silently, fluently, away.

A dream of you

Like photos before colour I dream of you
In sepia, in stills and framed with wood and silver.
It is not you, it is your image haunting me into the deep,
a smile you never gave, endorsed with words I can’t revive.
From person you’ve become a part of life
That only shows up in my sleep.

Till noon

Morning remains my best companion
As I go outdoors where the silver sea is.
Even in mist I’ll know it’s there, outdoors
Where the birds make nests and flowers give birth
While life is a promise that can’t be kept till noon
When the drowned bodies under the surface start rolling
Making waves flooding my feet and thoughts as they visit.
The sound of blended bones and skulls, the grit,
As the road back home is under construction,
The world becomes a heavy cement dust under a blanket of lead
And morning has been a memory too sweet.

Between ebb and flow

We meet on the shore where our minds mingle with the falling tide,
Fragments of our past blow by, in painful grains of sand,
Leaving salt that tastes like dried up tears,
Shells speak to our ears softly
Of what has been.
Of what has been
The waves whisper, then grumble
And we walk away from each other again
Because the water is getting too high for our feet.
We should have worn boots. I know you don’t own such.

Wall paper bites man

I kept entering, feeling those
Old wooden floorboards under my feet,
Bringing me back from the outside
Where birds flew right through me,
While the wall paper bit you to pieces.

Unseen I had stood in front of the window
Looking in, watching us being apart
In black reflections until the door opened.
Warmth and promise came to approach me and so
I kept entering, feeling those.


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