The Silvery Spring

I open my eyes to see

a loveless night.

I open the door of conscience

to understand how far away

it is to solemn naiveté.

Someone politely closed the door

behind me, all I had to do

was die against the crystal clouds.

Our night strips naked,

it will never forgive sour, still green stars.

Ever since I started craving

a sad, soft dream,

the loneliness fades away

with the first memory

of a silvery spring.

I would like to find out if death

is not only the final test,

but also a puzzle that even God

does not know the solution to.

I'd rather be born again

than look at myself in the mirror

where I can see your worn face.

Reviews

[M. J. Smith]

You remind me somewhat of Ranier Maria Rilke, a German port from around the early twentieth century. Hard to understand, but with an underlying beauty. Well done.