Spirits
Roam the house
Language has turned into rattles
Gushes, babbles, sobs
What lacks is a vision, a revelation, a creation
Life is the agony of the unadorned, but
Even the bottomless pit bears a shape
Even the chaos has one
Your Home doesn’t
Since Here –
To not have
Means to lose
What we once had
Once you did have one
But
Now it is the time to dream
To dream with the power of magic
And not just look into
Ordinary hope.
Let me be frank:
We cannot make it on hope
It is too mellow and rather slow-paced
We are in need of a strong dosage
We need an overdose, to reach
The very end
So that then we may
Albeit in panic and with therapy
Return to life
Again.
Perhaps…