Sift them, ljóð frá 26. júní 2023.

From the fields

fall and see.

Set them, someone wields,

surpassed, lost from crowds.

Robots tattoed talking, former humans,

trust them none and opposites are true.

Reading all and ready,

rustling not more, steady.

Needed for the numens,

numbers only do.

Past was partly free,

pain is turning clouds.

 

Not so near,

nasty, strong.

Smile, the smallness, fear...

smitten, try in vain.

Who's there talking? - Worthless words, no meaning.

Wiping out the life on earth for greed.

Empty souls are over,

even must we trover.

Lonely Lorenz queening,

lost for different beat.

Take it, turn then wrong,

tell us no one's slain!

 

Let them lie,

lost in fear.

Friends will fall and die,

frozen in their pride.

They don't try to understand the efforts.

Animals will speak but reason not.

Sift them, nothing needed,

nor if seem they feeded.

Bail out, see them, Beforts,

but so many rot.

Dead they dare not hear,

dreadful, nothing right!

 

Trover = taka eignanámi.

Numen:Andi rómverskur sem býr í húsum eða hlutum.

Lorenz: Vísun í Lorenzo de medici, endurreisnarmanninn mikla. Jafnvel mikilmenni geta orðið einmana, er merking línunnar, og reyna að mikla sig.

Nafnið Befort er komið úr frönsku, og stytting á Belfort, sem þýðir mjög fallegur, tvöfaldlega fallegur.