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XIV: Eyes
Eyes “I have seen the end, and future of mankind. I tell of visions and warn leaders of demise, yet who heeds the call of a blind and poor monk?” - F H Hakansson Filed under: Poetry Tagged:...
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XV: A Dream
A Dream A final touch completed his model; A castle of ice on glowing brimstone. He smiled upon the impossible His thought had changed the world. - F H Hakansson Filed under: Poetry Tagged: creative,...
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XVII: A Wizard’s Curse
A Wizard’s Curse “Reveal thyself, my Master, for I heed your final call.” Old man with cane in hand moved from shadows to the land. He appeared to a courtyard boy who sought a kingdom to destroy....
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XVIII: At Midnight
At Midnight A shark smiled at sea but no cucumber stank feet so I dove towards the Sun where three ravens played guitar. Oh – howled the stone before it sprung grass on the ocean floor. Who will play...
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XIX: A Reflection on Time
A Reflection on Time I sent a letter to the past using words I canot recall. * I recieved a picture fom the past A smiling man and wife along two children I flipped the paper and saw scribbles. Without...
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XXI: The End
The End Smile and pray No fire fell today But doom falls upon all some day. * Death already came Cloaked in the skin of man. Earth screams in silence and Venus weeps for its sister. * “Thief! Stop!”...
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XXII: The Goblin King
The Goblin King The fat King wobbled to his throne, beard sacking behind, belly flapping in motion to his hips. “BRING ME MEAD!” He spoke through a device amplifying thought. The servants scattered...
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XXIV: Christmas
We celebrate Christmas on the 24th in Sweden but since many of my readers are from America I chose to publish this post a day after. How was your Christmas celebration? Did you enjoy having a post...
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Of old man’s eyes and bitter lies
Of old man’s eyes and bitter lies Often human birds sang of life cocoons of bitter experience filled but butterflies sang of joy no – I cannot comprehend their melody fine rhapsodies of jail time they...
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Ruptured
Ruptured Pilgrim through the ruins of a dream. Ashen rain falls. In reflections of past voices We are reborn. - F H Hakansson Filed under: Poetry Tagged: creative, poem, writing
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