By
Ieva Rasmussen
Under The Satellites
my house is rustling, whispering to me
sleepy tales of long forgotten ghosts,
old stairs gently squeak
under echoless footsteps of the night…
I sit alone up on the roof
and watch the opal eyes of stars,
as the world in comfort of imaginary closeness
is sleeping in a dream of lonely hearts…
pixelated love through wireless connections
reaches distant feelers of the satellites,
those slow contemporary shooting stars
revolving around earth in ancient skies…
come, make a wish, utter your prayers
into mechanical god’s deaf steel ears
forged in this deus ex machina world
inside the glowing core of neon night..
soft sob is weeping in the chest of pristine god
he’s dwelling in the tree of Yggdrasil
and shadow branches reach the starry skies..
afloat inside the spirit of Pierrot
behind white painted smiling mask of face
I toss my coins of silver thoughts
into celestial wishing wells
and dream of you under revolving satellites..
A Wish
Night air sings
Aerial song
Under the wings
Above me
High flying shadow
Of white crow
In midnight garden
Cherrie trees
Awaiting
Naked and cold
The fall of emptiness
Black snow
Soft voice of darkness
Whispers secrets
About migrating
Hollow souls
In spaces
Of realities unborn
Darkness sighs
Withdraws
And wanders
Tired shadow steps
Towards amnesia
Of dawn
About to fall asleep
In core of light
It calls my name
And says
I wish I could become
A star reborn
A white crow
Flys the night
While amber eyes
Reflect cold starlight
It croaks I wish
That I was born a swan
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