a clear rhyme is true desire

Khalil Gibranonce said that poetry is not an opinion that you state. It is a song, rising from a bleeding wound or a smiling face.

Below you will find some poems I wrote over the years that were lost and now have found a way onto this page.

Two friends,
grown distant to one another,
stung, hit
together alone.

The words
on their lips,
already in thoughts
have died, are dumb.

Wordless gazes,
embarassed
they meet, they part,
do not know which way.

Even if it separates us,
the distance
we are still one,
and always will be - forever.

A life is arranged anew,
old things in a new place,
a place in the distance - quite close.

When distance becomes closeness,
we are
connected in thoughts - forever.

Sleeping under the same stars,
still different, unknown, new,
yet refreshing and reviving.
Close as never before - forever.

Red clouds,
Shadows on the land
rebelling impetuously.
A foreign desire
of rain and wind.

A dark celestial body
embroidered with stars
endless exhilarating.
A bright light
irradiating from above.

The sky breaks open,
the view brightens up,
unfamiliar widths,
to desire the new.

Forged in early days
Between two related souls
Continuously renewed with
Wordless silence speaking volumes.
Mothers and daughters.
Fathers and sons.
Unbreakable, still so vulnerable
Defying
Time and space.
Distance does not seperate
Tying closer soul to soul
For endless time,
Ignoring earthly bounds.

You are telling me to preserve the truth.
But whose truth? Mine? Yours?
Is it important what we believe in
or what we are supposed to believe in?
Who makes us believe,
who creates the truth?
Is a dream the truth
or is the truth a dream?

In the distance,
a field full of thoughts.
I can smell them,
the wind is promissing.

Grand visions,
nestled to small wishes.
Silence!
A peculiar picture.

The fronts unsettled.
Taunting glances
from the past.
Find your way and
become one with yourself.

Let your soul wander,
forget and forgive,
against the enemy inside.
Let it be what is and was,
return to yourself.

Drop by drop,
an ocean of tears.
Trying to search,
the base of the source,
forgiven, forgotten.

The search for it,
finished, failed.
No aim ahead,
bleak and sullen.
Is that what you wanted?