Fertility

 The winds stood still in solemn row,

and my eternal dance ceased its flow.

They read a page from my own light,

and all became clear to the mind's sight.

The years rolled on, nervous and unaccountable,

and like a blind man between walls,

in company with innocent grave-robbers,

I breathed in gases murderous and foul.

They reversed the poles of my own life,

and I roared with dreadful, piercing cries—

why did they leave me with open eyes

to the vain wounds of my existence's strife?

My two lovers flew far away,

they left me—Happiness, Misery.

And now I feel a new euphoria,

that cares for me, holds me from mountains high.

Inspiration

 You seem a magical sight,

but however I may change you,

malice, disdain,

black as the dawn,

you’ve bloodied my eyes—

before you come, I’ll cry out.

Ill-fated mission,

I’ve borne you through the ages;

you steal the sunrise from me,

and I struggle, striving

for the ugly, distant

contortion of the bastard-born.

A sequel with devils

and northern winters,

you draw down darkness

with terrible typhoons;

now it nears and arrives—

the noose of oblivion.

We are bent and resemble

a misshapen swallow.

All around

 A landscape bowed on every side,

Greyish drops fall soft and wide

From the bloodied sky above,

While spiky plants below, with reverence, drink thereof.

Golden rays, like fugitives, pierce the wounds

Of the ashen ground, in silent rounds.

Cypress giants stand cut short, peering down

At small, dead, fragile shells they crown—

Once dwellings of slow, leisurely creatures, now undone.

The olive tree stands Pallas, even dimmed in light,

Gazing steadfast at the shifting sight—

A landscape of the modern human's art,

With which it neighbors, though set apart.

Celebrations

 Oh, behold, my dear lament,

as if someone calls to you—

I believe I hear at last

a voice of joyful hue.

The withering has been bound,

the season has arrived

when nature sheds its light,

and sorrows have derived.

But was a solution given to all

in the blink of an eye?

With labor, the stomach lays

such nourishment awry.

Let us make a retreat,

if only for a while,

and build within my eyes

a new perspective's style.

But when I gaze ahead with care,

I see a pitiable breed,

endlessly shallow, stripped of worth,

and driven by sickly need.

Once more they've grasped at life,

lifeless and crippled, low—

yet celebrations echo,

a hollow, endless show.

Early spoken

 Serpent, eagle, and mankind,

Bound together at dawn's break,

Nectar of truth, fruit of the tireless mind,

Scourge and pleasure the pen shall make.

Iron now seethes, the omen's sign,

Minds selected in storms' design,

A cleansing wind of the dead's domain

Reaps fruits corrupted, foul, and vain.

The rays of the great noon take flight and gleam,

They cast their glow on the massive, carved tombstone,

Upon it, victory shields of noble esteem

Of the great murderer, the ram on his throne.

Laughing cynically once more,

Divine epitaphs' measures roar,

A final bridge unites two lands,

Today and tomorrow of natural man's demands.

Let them be insurmountably right,

Raw, bathed in humanity's blood and light,

Ages will testify in hidden, covert ways,

By chance, they were spoken too early in the haze,

And thus misunderstood in their endless days.