It is the last
warm day of autumn...

I'll stare at the sunset
until my eyes turn black...

Alone in a room
with a deja-view...

When we have become
migratory birds, blind lemmings...

The past is consuming my future,
it eclipses my present in hollow spaces...

The night air saturated with haunting music
aboriginal chants pull down the weeping moon...

Dazzle a weary mind
with fresh roses of sustenance...

Seeing and feeling
through the eyes...

Dreams creates hope creates faith creates dreams
need creates pain creates desperation creates need...

Has anybody told you how beautiful and caring and...

Sometimes I feel like I am the last one who knows...
Sometimes I feel I'm the last one who believes in...

PROVERB I
Attach oneself not...