11.5.09

A Salamander.

Reckon fire
to the point of oblivion,
before there is flying,
before past is shook,
grasping the moon &
holding it firm,
til excuses & demons
dance & lose themselves
far into the horizon,
thus paths come near,
then walking blindly,
hand in hand & nothing else,
unfolding beauty,
to drop off scalds
of sulphur & salt.
Ignite fire,
waving farewells to heaven,
after regaining colour,
after there are chants from the sea,
nostalgic at the sprouts
of wisdom & dives,
so dreams retaliate
& tear the unforgiveness
from false reality,
which often went broken
from need to believe
in angels of grey,
of anger & pray,
observing the proud,
the lost & the banal.

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