Sparks, Alandra Ossenberg (pseud.) [read novels website txt] 📗

MORNING SONG

The day is dark and full of questions;

the night is bright and full of hope;

a smile - it stirs amongst the shadows;

a tear - it stains a joke.

 

So few have lived to see the end

of a beginning full of doubt

when options were but nightmares,

not worth to dream about.

 

The day - an echo of the past;

the night - a kiss for what’s ahead;

a song unsung for future lovers;

a tree’s leaf coloured red.

 

So few find peace amongst the shadows

and grow a plant in barren soil;

so few set out with tears of wrath

to end with tears of joy.

 

But we, my dear, we persevered

though, yes, the way was dark;

you made me see a path - and me?

I was your morning lark.

CHANGING LIMITS

 

Where are the whitewashed walls

that segregated rocky thoughts?

What happened to the barrier

that kept my doubts apart?

 

Some kind of fog has covered

my feelings’ demarcations;

a fog,grey no man’s land for knowledge,

a darkness bright

that blinds the inward eye,

and veils a brooding place

for secrets of the soul.

 

I wonder what will come of this –if borderlines

are being changed,

and if the fog

will disappear in time.

Some silhouettes

may pierce the mist –

at least from time to time;

they are but premonitions

of future insecurity,

of swaying hearts

and gates wide open,

of colours mingling on a plain.

 

But then again, old kingdom…

the whitewashed walls –

they had been crumbling

for quite a while already,

and the fog

just seems to be

a shaky, hesitating hand

that is about

to draw new maps.

 

There’s probably

rich soil for thoughts

behind the barriers that I knew.

One step,

and then the next

into a new-born realm.

 

Finally, the fog is lifting.

How curious I am!

And see!

A brick road lies ahead.

THE BURSTING OF A DAM

 

Hoping hopelessly

There's nothing else

But the search of hands

In the night

 

Water-shivers

In the light of the headlamps

In the echo of smacking sand

The bodies sweating rivulets

Mist rising from the mouths

Nothing against

The humid breath of nature

 

The sky washy

At the crack of dawn

There are no clouds left

For castles in the air -

But there still are

The hands

MUSINGS

As children

we believed in honour;

we heard our fathers’ tales

of just and noble fights;

however,

they turned out

to be lies and mockery,

or maybe self-delusions.

 

Our eyes

saw harsh reality,

saw death and sorrow flourish.

We were so young –

no wonder

our skins and souls

were scarred forever.

 

We tried to talk

and yet, we couldn’t.

Our minds were worlds apart

and clad in armour

to survive

one more hour,

one more day.

We tried to support each other

in the face of blood and pain.

Still, we felt helpless

for we could do so little.

Our touches?

Insignificant –

or so we thought…

until a battle tore us

from each other’s side.

 

They told me

you were lost, or dead,

and now,

I’m in a place to heal –

a place I did not choose.

 

What shall I say?

You are alive

in vivid dreams

and memories.

Your voice,

your words, so precious,

I hear them now

as if you were

right next to me

all of a sudden.

 

The human mind –

a mystery.

You’re gone

like so many others,

and yet…

why do you feel so close?

So close?

INTUITION

It is Intuition that lives

beetle-like amongst the thoughts,

with dots of the subconscious

on her iridescent back.

 

While she has a stocky stature

and a heart of deeper knowledge

her descendants take a different shape:

They are mountains in the plain.

 

Once in a while,

the Intuition-beetle takes off

and flies through the mind,

lends wings to ideas

and turns into the midwife

of mankind’s brilliancy.

 

She is a spontaneous guide –

despite- the fog of dreams,

crawling in the labyrinth of life.

THANKFUL

I don’t need gratitude

that is hollered out

into the world

no thanks

that reverberate

in a dark den

no need for extra headaches

 

What makes me happy

is your smile

the sparkle in your eyes

your awareness

that you’ve grown

When I see you

warm and lively

I’m warm and lively, too

 

And you can believe me

I’m grateful myself:

for your inner light

that helps me see

that helps me pick my way

in the darkness

THE WORLD

It’s a world where love lies hidden

and emotions and truth are forbidden.

It’s a world full of jealousy

and lacking or abundant individuality.

Being richer, poorer, better, worse

is the world’s daily merciless curse.

It’s a world where nobody is free,

a world from which no-one can flee.

These facts must entail

the bleak life of jail.

It’s a rotten, lost society

with lacking or abundant individuality.

 

Is it our future?

THE ELVES’ SONG

Once upon a time

the elves had a new song

and the girl Nadjala

listened to them so long.

 

“Follow us into the air!

Follow us along the stream!

You will see another land

like a golden dream.”

 

The little girl Nadjala

had a romantic heart

and the elves’ song

hit her like a dart.

 

“Follow us into the air!

Follow us along the stream!

You will see another land

like a golden dream.”

 

The little girl Nadjala

was enchanted and was lost,

was scattered like a fading leaf,

a little nothing, tempest-tossed.

 

“ Follow us into the air! 

Follow us along the stream!

We are your stealthy guides.

You will run out of steam.”

 

Nadjala turned into a ghost,

the song into eternity,

the elves completely disappeared,

dissolved into simplicity.

 

“Follow us into the air!

Follow us along the stream!

We’ll lead you into nothingness,

being nothing but a dream.”

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Publication Date: 04-17-2015

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