Ascending the pine tree, descending into the mother, a new death dying. The fierce desire, which does not let go, to rebirth. Behold man, behold God. Forever is life.
Category: Poem
the shift
O how heavy the night is,
Closer to darkness.
I'm nervous.
The bed is an old sarcophagus.
It needs to sleep:
deferred falls
in eternal black
Of what has been.
How much rather the morning
and the budding early freedom,
Still shrouded in silence,
rising on the horizon,
passing light of what is to come.
The slow awakening.
