My words flow enthusiastic
Telling a topic few appreciate.
The story had little players
With specific superpowers
That secretly touch or lives
In the core moments.
Photo story
One click is one situation
I wish to remember and store.
Digital data take on the value
Of vibrant feelings and dear persons
Condensed in a limited second.
No more foggy memories and personal additions
To the story.
Train hug
Fast and straight it climbs the mountain
With the lord nose being its motor
And the admiring faces its cargo.
The little train knows its way,
On the tract that forbidden to humans,
And its personality is antique and unique,
yet home to the roaming foreigners.
On a Friday
Flattened like a pancake,
My brain is resting
After an intense week of experimental living.
The free findings
Opened new arguments
While the story is written in chapters.
Negotiation effort
Negotiations as the currency
to reach the evening.
Not aiming to the best
but to the compromise
Makes the effort easier and more at reach
But the satisfaction sighs
And only a long term vision
Gives peace.
Salty patience
Patience makes you a saint
But takes you to the top of a mountain
And leaves you there.
Alone and patient,
Questions are silenced
And peace settles in.
Luckily it is soon mobbed by the dormant curiosity
And excitement that salts your story.
Story telling
Tell me a story
That was never written
that has a cowboy traveling alone
And a horse who missed her friends.
A story with a farm and a dog
Smelling like peach flowers
And cut grass
Is my favourite.
Tel me a story you lived
And that I will tell my children
But will never write.
Lab day
Another day has passed
Through my clicks and my printings
In the busy lab
Who looks forward.
Lab animals feed on planning the future
And snack on tiny bites of promising mistakes
While the mission proceeds.
Moving on
You tell me to move on
Without complaining
Not to ruin the image of your reality.
I will step out
But my opinions are sacred,
Laid in a basket inside me,
And they will be written if not told.
Reality passes quietly and silent
and I needed time to give a name
to all the happenings.
I hate labels but they give the right words
to tell the story
I do not want to forget.
Short fingers
I have only short fingers
To tell my story
And type passionately this night.
In this short distance,
All life condenses in drops of memories
And vapour of lost kisses.
Short words will be ideal
To write those heavy memories,
The persons that can only be remembered,
And the baby steps I climbed
And now behind my back.
