- May the harp of inconsolable
sadness celebrate its existence
with a song and the fingers find
their way home . . .

- Where Am I?

I don’t dare to think

negative thoughts
I don’t dare to visualize

that I give up.

Because then.

I am going to burn out
and hide underneath
the ashes of my once
burning heart.

In the land of nowhere
there is always something
that makes you wanna
stay

a little bit longer

there is no call waiting
at the other end of the line.
 A burning, glowing, pulsating
 heart with red and purple scars
The never-ending landscape and
the winds are still blowing - calling me
to follow one of them. No matter where
but somewhere.

Outside my window, birds

return to the trees
chirping
cars are passing by
the time is passing by
Birds fly in the air
away from the trees
trembling branches
the clouds still stand still
but they don’t wait . . .
neither do I
but I must wait for something

"Till the windows speak and tremble, Till the portals echo joyance, And the hearth-stones sing in pleasure" from Birth of the second harp by John Martin Crawford, [1888]