Fool's Enemies


Evermore it comes
back to this: tear upon tear
streaks across self-doubt
as meaningless, tiny details
resonate with wounded past.


Dwarfed by nature,
struck down by tormenting rain.
Without shelter, brush
in my trembling hand, I paint
you letters from a fool's heart.


Unsure certainty
brings this passing soul home to
converse with mirrors.
Answers come in all colours;
they make me wither in doubt.


A wild jade stallion
ran through here; left impressions
on the soft, soft sand;
hooves shaped like yielding hearts and
mane tangled to capture you.


My dear enemy,
I seek not to defeat you;
the perfect blossoms
of Spring have taught me that much.
You'll return here, regardless.

Repeat the Fall


Take one silken leaf
and imagine the blue sky
with meadows of gold.
All these tapestries, jewels,
wither in comparison.


Red drop after blue:
a rainbow, washing away.
Colours dissipate,
hide in grey earth, wriggle through
bared canes. A fall before Fall.


Come, come, winter-girl,
undo your ribbons, send snow
bristling, to be caught
by my tongue. Use the rest to
tuck me in flaky blankets.


Radiating star
awakens me and my Love
from deepest slumber
called Winter. Look up, my Love:
sparrows have found the garden!


Light-green Spring turns to
dry, sand-brown Summer. And still
no rain falls, no cloud
stretches across reversed sky.
Parched lips keep on praying.


A divine fever,
spreads itself over cool lakes,
churning them into
boiling pits of fume, acid,
and delusions of Summer.


Amethyst rain breaks
this surface of reflections.
Wind torments water,
twisting it from aether clouds:
Autumn reaps only sorrow.

The Lone Philosopher


Lonely gravestones by
shallow paths of vain glory.
Crimson soldiers fight,
like ghosts in brittle void.
What was the prize sought-after?


Smoke rises, fires burn.
A group of petrified cranes
flies away from hell,
before their feathers are plucked;
lives of symbols shortened.


Go away, Death.
Please, don't the sparrows look too
beautiful today;
too carefree for You to tear
away their sole watcher?


The clock turns and ticks,
waiting for guests from afar.
None have arrived.
Please, please, liberate me from
this endless brewing of tea.


This morning you lost
all your memories of hurt
“The Sun is reborn,”
you said, peeling off black veils.
Now I'm alone in my grief.

Possessed


Laughter like a breeze,
hits with cold needles of pain.
Who else if not you,
could marvel me devil-like;
cut me up to see inside?


Moonlight pours herself
without warrant on my desk.
Damn her! Distraction
throws my thoughts off so lewdly.
Dante walks away, frowning.


My toddlerhood friend,
liquid eyes, dark hair, smooth smile:
like a reflection.
Now you lie there, giving me
straight answers to queer questions.


Twisted smoke rises
from tamed oceans, rippled with
unsure intentions.
Eager seaweed pulls you in,
hugs you to death, vagabond.


My heart is tied by
your sleek talk and promises;
Wreathed in white lies,
burnt by black flames, turned to
dust the moment you walk near.


Spring floods the river
of dreams. A samurai wakes
up, out of breath, glares
around like never before.
Pleading for death in the void.


The most beautiful
muse can't compare with you, Love.
I write these futile
words for you to rip apart.
Demurely, you ask for more.

Temptations of Cursed Solitude


Morbid thoughts came by
as dark lies in endless streams.
You feel fine today;
steady enough to expose
your persistent will to die.


Another storm past,
the howling night now silent.
My candle flickers;
it's hard to read these poems of
love alone. You won't return.


One flower tempts me
to pluck its silken petals.
To share this instant
has been impossible since.
I ripped them all away.


Chocolate locks, shoulders
of alabaster. So soft
were your eyes. So vain
were your words as you sliced me,
an unworthy cur, in shreds.


Forgotten, my Love,
you lie in the dark river.
Flowers of winter
the smell of decay around;
your only audience now.


To open eyes wide;
accepting the reality
as it now will be.
I throw the dead leaves away
becoming as one myself.


The gods unsheathed
the perfect sword; drew Japan
in a myth. Sheathing
my pen, I give up, draw my
sword, cut my stubborn head off.