top of page

twelve times

Twelve times


To the end whatever you have

counted from the beginning.

Questions for spirits, though you probably know too much,

put in motion with a wheel of time.

The clock rusted, though you probably don’t know;

son, daughter - to the silence not of this world, come back

to the hallway with immortal folklore,

to the kitchen with a cat away from modernity,

sleeping upon the stove propelled with birch.


Stars wanting nothing - the maps.

Roads beating with life from head to toes,

so sacred, it is hard not to kneel.

However possible, reach out

through the viscose of hurry

for a string of breath,

and play, play, play until it bursts.

Because all is dreamed to us besides the love,

like Taurus in Uranus.


©Szweda

Castlerock 2019

Recent Posts

See All

Rite

Rite Heavy with human suffering, weeping is the yoga of conscience. The moon is not heard, but confesses - absolves anyone who feels pain without a name. Because where the light itself dreams, you are

Balance

Balance And nothing changes. The world doesn’t stop despite half the people, I’m in both, where everything is sound: the stars giggle, the earth breathes, and where you don’t even have anything in min

Thanking silence for silence with silence

Thanking silence for silence with silence I stopped thinking, like this clock not wound for three days, about the past carried like a wet beam from the beach. For everyone has in them a friend and an

Comments


bottom of page