Roots Of Life
The age of life humility pictured
with faces in floods of pain
impermeable shadows are stabbed with a sword of horror
cold and impure in the hands of mad people.
Enfolded with a dusk in a maze where no-one counts the time
lost in a silent world of shadows
where features of forgotten centuries in a fog
make the everlasting pain alive in an hour before dawn.
Deep under the dark water
faces washed up by oblivion have a rest for centuries
very close to sleep and death
turned into dust and ash
in a long sleep of balm death.
The way through smoke and ash
a meaningless way of life in a madness
which goes slowly in an incomprehensible rhythm of killing
black shadows of deep dreams are silent in a mortal cold
they're laughing at hope, in its endless ascent for love.
