it does't talk but it is nice anyway

Palma...

when night falls truth comes too near

   now i am as sad as when i had been a very young man,

   though now this sadness is thicker and heavier by too much

   experience of loss. 

   it is not without a way out, maybe.

   but yes, i am in a deep well, and i cannot say that i should welcome

   a visitor. in my drowning and fear i may grab her and pull her down

   and under. she would have to hold me ever so lightly and

   show me that she is prepared to stay with me

   quietly until i find the courage to climb out by myself.

   yes, i had a dream, i waded out in flat warm water, a lonely beach,

   and far out with fishes around my legs i shot my head off. 

   but no, i am not yet there.

   still, i can wait, rest, recover, then climb.

   or jump, up.

   with the night truth arrived in all its cruel clearness, with its salty taste of tears

   and blinding bitterness.

   it came with its own beauty, blackness falling softly like snowflakes,

   and now i will have to wait for the morning, my

   morning, when i can shine my lost light through the clouds.

   

   

my heart is a dragonfly

my heart is a dragonfly

wings dancing across the water.

i am full with joy when i move.

when i rest

it is for the shortest moment

on the swaying tip of a reed.

my heart does not know

where i am nor where i go

my heart is full with death

and wild loneliness

through black dense night.

i do not know who i am

nor who i will be.

my heart is full with pain

and frozen tears.

i do not know a path, 

i am here and there.

my heart is full with silent screams

in the prison of my bed

and in my suffocated need.

the light is cruel,

it burns my soul.

my heart is a dragonfly

hovering in my mind.

i cannot be near,

i cannot be far.

i drown in the pond

when i touch down,

i forget to fly

when i think.

my heart is a dragonfly,

it only knows to live and to die.

no talk,

no silence,

no non-acting

will cure my soul.

here is no space to fly

but noise in my brain,

humming of words

and pain and wings.

i must, i think,

must fly alone.

is it sad?

is freedom sad?