When darkness meets darkness in a dark room, light happens.

Words swirl in a mad dream, crooked half-turns become wonderfully crooked half-turns, and reason itself goes for a spot of moonbeam.

November

Hear,

the sound of fire

by the hour

your face melts

into mine;

And I pine

for my rose,

love, stay close,

for the kingdom

is at hand,

or is it

a nonsense flick

on a hazy screen,

I wonder, girl,

if at all,

I had touched the tip

of what lies beneath

the barren stars

and I wonder,

what colour are your lips

Deathly hallows

Tonight the stars are all gray.

Sorry, I never thought about the end;

That wide waters may drown my stone,

I would rather not see in my dreams.

My colours merge into your dull eyes,

And the curtain silently moves along

my hatred for you. I break free of my guilt,

in a moment of immense solitude.

The words turn into hyacinths, all white,

They cling together throughout the torrent of silence,

I almost smile, when the rain stops in the afternoon.

Your words, they die in your blazing chariot, like the wish of light.

Tonight I'll get to see the stars.