After a frantic search
Over a panical earth
At last I finally find
The last atlas in mind

Poetry by Me

They stand collected
They stand in pride
Their metallic arms
Dually fading

A lonesome moon
Wanders above
In deeper darkness
Wading

I hear the tunes
The tunes of death
I feel no pain
And no regrets

i died a hero
With my gun
When they were twenty
And I was one

Poetry by Me

If I speak in Swedish, will you know what I'm saying?
If it's me you need then, I am here without delaying
If it's me you are seeing, behind your hidden walls
I don't think I need to, think of you at all

I think that you think of me, as much as I of you
And if you think that much, I don't think I need to
So as of this day and thoughts such, I will think no more
I just want to give you, a million thank yous for

All your thoughts.

Poetry by Me

If my bison runs There will be more The wind blows over An unseen shore

But if I die away The bison in time Won't be the same For they won't be mine

Poetry by Me

The words are seldom spoken
The words are seldom said
Still they remain as tokens
Amongst our burning beds

The words are never woken
The words are never dead
The words are dormently open
Potent and kept in head

Poetry by Me

It sails like an eagle, without freedomly limit
Onto the graves in oceans, atop fairly ravished pits
Without rails to lead it, without roads to trail
The warship, the Gods, set sail

Poetry by Me

Can you see my naked eye
Can you see me for
All that I know I really am
And just a little more

Can you see me naked, my
Stands of vigor forth
Barren and grotesque in all
The senses I recall

Can you see me by your side
Striding in your ravished tide
Riding high and full of pride
Can you see me try

Can you see me when I see
All that you are and want to be
Can you set me free, please!
Sit beside me, sing and seize.

Poetry by Me

Summer slowly nearing
The middle of its vast
Horizon never clearing
Nor fearing its fair grasp
In the rear of rear ends
In the fore of galore
Summer closing into
A little pool of ´dor

Poetry by Me

Summer is my sin
A quest for sun and swim
Vex my circuits

Poetry by Me

Poetry is art
But a poke of scars
A rash appreciated
By many, and hated

By many, and rated
By many, contemplated
By many, and made in
Many many, modules

Poetry by Me