betroth yourselves
to old houses of Charlottenburg
let yourselves be mollycoddled
by the petrified rain king
buy yourselves a shiny armour
of a former seraphim
call yourselves bourgeois,
dear ambassadors of art
prosy playwriters
live futile lives
full of futile effort
we are the revenants of heedlessness
the masses of plastic limpidness
and cubists that paint no more
like vortex and vertigo
we're abstract in a colour gamut
but I only like to whisper
among the lilies of rusty minefields
replacing the city with simplicity
Child, naked spirit
Expelled from the Creator's
Loom, where the miracle of life
Wove your perfection
And brought you forth from
The comfort and safety of the womb
Wailing your outrage at so rough
A journey into your mother's arms
Where love and tenderness, fears
And uncertain tears
Washed away your brief reprieve
Where blythe limpidness
Enfolded you -
Grow little child of innocence
And breathe your warm and trusting breath
Upon the cold windowpane
Of life, and see the mist
That forms, and blocks
Your view
And causes you to stumble -
And when your mother's arms can no longer
Protect you
You too will bear life's pain
And know its passing delights
And passions
While your breath is warm
Against the cold windowpane
Of life.
Stunning drops of pearls of diamond in grace
Nature’s brightness wearing its imperial dress
Ornaments night ‘n skies in striking limpidness
Whirling reflection ‘f rare wonders ‘f whiteness
Fascinating scenery softening wintry chillness
Aroma to the unique breeze ‘f winter freshness
Light amidst the burdening ‘f twilight darkness
Lyrical ballade ‘f pure enchantments and bliss