Fragments

1. Memory

Beneath drifting wreckage
on the sea of the mind,
a silent feeling lingers.

A sunken ship rests still,
cradling countless relics—
soft flesh dissolving,
nourishing the creatures of the deep.

Grief, that solemn name,
holds within it love’s remembrance,
its essence purified,
tears slipping into the boundless ocean.

Blood seeps from the body,
carrying the echoes of the soul.

When time is fulfilled,
when all things vanish,
those memories shall turn to spiritual rain,
falling upon the vast expanse of the cosmos.

2. Fragment

A fleeting scrape of sound—
a whisper of sin brushing the mind.

The fountain of blessings
is veiled in regret and repentance.

The cursed invoke curses,
the blessed bestow blessings,
the blind feast upon wrath’s bitter fruit.

All of it, in an instant,
becomes an eternal symphony.

3. The Wheel

Pain smolders in dying embers.

Threads of memory unravel,
leaving only an ancient harbor.

You see it—
my absence.

Touch it,
as if summoning a curse.

The wheel of fate begins to turn.

God laughs, mercilessly.
I weep, in joy.

Tomorrow,
we shall meet again.

4. Pleasure

A traveler met by chance,
I led into twilight’s abyss.

The autumn wind whispered—
“Once more… once more…”

A name I could not forsake,
a pleasure beyond words.

“Once more… once more…”

Some unknown mark—
I carved it deep
into that lone tree.

5. Morning

One morning, two eyes awaken—
gazing into the owl’s silent stare.

The fountain of life
gently drowns
our decayed selves.

Last night, the moon spoke to a woman,
a thread of light tracing her form.

I cast away my heavy, suffocating book.
I removed my shoes.

The sun smiles.

Minerva’s owl watches me.
It seems—
the time has come.

A single grave—
she has dug for me.

6. Dream

Perceive your awareness,
be aware of your perceiving.

Tears fall, hands touch, warmth lingers.
Sweat trickles, hair dries, feet waver.

What was seen yesterday,
what will be seen tomorrow.
The road once traveled,
the fate awaiting at dawn.

Things that warm,
things that freeze.

Blood flows, a mother’s tears.
A “dream” lost to the guillotine.

7. Thread

I lived like a drifting thread,
wavering, faintly afloat.

Carried by water,
then consumed by flames.

Surely, I have seen the tears of sorrow,
gazed into the abyss of hell.

Yet above me, there was always light.

Somewhere, a voice was singing.

I witnessed miracles, again and again.
I beheld the birth of life.

Was I truly nothing more than a thread?

Or in the end,
was I—
the very tears you shed?

The great, pulsing tide of existence
swept me away.