In coldness of my dark bowel

a yell after mercilessness

bequeaths a trace of eternal destruction

to my decency



Uneven throbbing shadowfire

streams with raised melancholy

through twisted channels

of my forbode grief



In the black storms

of my mental agony

the deliverance ripens

in form of a godless dusk

The faceless ancient

grasps with stony miming

into the cradle of mercy

and severs the blood stained flag



But still it seems to me

that the lightbringer

spreads a shining shroud

over the shadow being

of an owl which died in chains



As the rock in me bursts asunder

the round dance of the colouring

grows up in my twilight

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