Swirling, ljóð frá 12. desember 2022.

Coming to the cross,

carry burden, once the score...

So they see,

seas of hidden war.

Swirling beings, stones and mist in moss,

must be something telling me...

Weak and small, to smile,

smiting for the guile.

Proof of something, fear is staying strong,

strange how people must be fighting, always wrong...

 

Waiting for the wife,

wanting so much higher goal.

Way too wrong,

wrestling for the soul.

Churches no more, along lines in life,

like it's changing, coming strong...

We are waiting still,

war is on the hill.

Is it real if unseen world is wide?

Warlords must be going down, and nothing right...

 

Every must you meet,

more than gone for human lime.

Dark to do,

dying every time.

Dark if people must be more in greed...

maybe something, taking you...

Fear if frame must die,

for the ransom sky.

Could I write and show this year of yore?

Yesterdays were never like this, then before...