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The Tale





Once upon a time

He took me by the hand

To show me the shadows.

He was old

And the earth was hardly spinning

Around him.

He blessed the blonde sirens

that float in my sentimental aquarium.

He showed me the big-bellied gnomes,

greedy after their green sheets.

He warned me to stay off a tree

With masks and jack-o-lanterns hanged on it`s branches.

He promised me: the animals are more beautiful in the chase

Than in their golden cages.



Since that eve he plays chess on the stars board.



Since that evening I bury my beloved ones

In my heart, without the sedative called agony,

Beyond the colossal glaciers.

Since that time it hunts me the light of a black sun.

“Beware the masquerade!”he repeated,

With his eye balls injected with black and white rhombs.

Now, I don`t even know in what cage I`m trapped

And in which moment the chess board covered me.

I am lost in another tale.

But I remember well

That once, he took me by the hand

To show me

The shadows…



I

did not returned.

This is a poem wrote for the Coven of Opressed Debauchery Haloween Contest:









hollow eve











Motto:“I will lift the stone

As Mary lifted it for her Son,

For substance, virtue, and strength;

May this stone be in my hand

Till I reach my journey’s end.”











… in the eve, God or whatever you wish to name it

caresses your hair softly

and lays in front of you

the imagination

the electricity and the computer screen

and make you believe



you just suffered a little in your dream.



you write a little poem

and you carry on,

you read a little Poe maybe

and listen some soothing gaelic tune wondering outside your doors

and you think you will pass over it

But the Moon from this night it`s unlike every other one.

She just turns you back to the same day from the ancient past:

you follow some steed made of ashes

hunted by the bonfires lit by the fairies

you hang some jack-o-lanterns to make your dear shadows remember you

and spit you out from the lips of Morrigan, the goddess

maybe drink some ale or a potion



so you can you curve your time



and there you walk

on the old ways

trying to cut your own fingers so you can`t write

because only the whispers can pass onward the Riddles

trying to refuse your own head

if you`re not ready to baptize yourself with water

you in front of you - a stranger

hidden inside

in the candle of the inner monastery

to survive these dark ages to come

hidden in your lantern to glow with

unspoken silence

to be born again

…and again

…end again

…the end is pregnant with a beginning



but your eyes hurts when you try to embrace all that light

emerged from the darkness

and you know you must wait because…



…in the eve, God

caresses your hair softly

and lays in front of you

the computer screen

and make you believe…