CategoryThe Most Beautiful Hours

So here I am.
I somersaulted all the way
to this threshold and now
I stall the further going,
too afraid of what‘s ahead.
Because here is
where the ending alters
into new beginnings –
Before satiety becomes hunger.
Before fatigue becomes elation.
Before placidity becomes hysterics.
Before routine becomes uncertainty.
Before normalcy becomes the extreme.
Before anticipation becomes concern.
Before welcome becomes farewell.

But the cavity slowly fades
and moves me outward,
where today turns into tomorrow
and farewell into welcome.
I confide to the motion.

My surroundings’ demands
piled up on me
and pulled me down
until I was immersed in gloom.

I was drowning in all devotion.
But I found this place we could run to,
where I suspended the fatigue I felt and
doffed the load of my donned guise.

Wrapped in golden glow we drifted.
Fueled from the rhythm
we merged to an endless ocean –
without initiation. Without destination.

The charme of that scene,
the melange of creatures
and the fervor involved
swelled to miraculous elation.

And this moment
may never end.

A storm comes up,
so strong that it pushes
my outside deep inside me.
At first I resist,
but exhausted I surrender.
I close my eyes
and look to the other side.
The narrowness that crushed me
dissolves into endless vastness.
The exile becomes a probation,
because where I am now
I do not want to stay,
but I must stay here
where I have never been.
For here is what remains of me.
The idea of who I am
is centered in who
I wish to become
and it guides me the way
back to the outside.

I have so many questions,
collected over the years,
sheltered in my memories,
to locate my origin and
the components of my being.

But I waited too long.
Before the right moment came,
you escaped entirely.
You carried away the answers
and stole the bricks of my ground.

I wander my imagination.
From there I bring shreds.
They help me close the blanks
to create a colorful depiction,
and now I let it shine.

I found this place,
a haven to where I escape –
from reason to nonchalance,
from duty to meaning
from pattern to romp.

Here we all yield our temptations
and indulge in all our drives
that we might regret the next day. 
We celebrate our lust 
striving for satisfaction
and true love.   

Oh Hedon, 
my hideaway from grind,
my bypass road from adulthood.

At times
adulting overstrains me.
And I long for my
fading childish naivety.
The grind distorted me,
obligations dazed me.
My gaze blurred –
I went astray
in dispassion.

Time blurs in the haze,
spreading viscously
and settling over days
that now seem endless
and almost uneventful.
Every day is a Sunday evening.
This is the idleness
we once called for.
But melancholically we now
dream back past into tomorrows.

My being was
in the stranglehold of grind
and it partially cracked.

I collected the shards,
put them together
into a new story.

I am the creator
of my story –
only passion guides me.

I am no longer a narrative
that people find
good enough to like.

What remains?
The moments and the wisdom
that cling to all fractures.

I’ve already been
a lot of people in my life.
After all, it’s easier
to play a role and simply
represent the expectations
of others in order to be liked.
But the hardest thing
is to be myself.
But who am I actually?
I break down the sum
of my thoughts and desires
into their individual parts
and write a play with myself
as the main character.