Lunar: Empty 293h3w

Lunar: Empty

by Markus Georgeson February 2021

Table of Contents

Title Page

Conception

Animal

Tabula Rasa

May

New Times

Absence

O.R.

Sickness

Night

Lunar Room

Still Waiting

Last Memories

Coffee Shop

Conception

White birds fly arrogantly in this morning the coolness with their mauve flowers myrrh germinates in the bodies

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But something is going to upset the poetry of life this summer a strange roar sounds in nature that one comes one leaves

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It sows terror suddenly to the few clairvoyants who hear it as if the ships in the ports were going crazy and they eerily change

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The buzzing of the bees was silenced as if the flowers were trapped in an eternal plucking but the star is still warming the blue waters and these erotic mauve eyes shine like a poem

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The quiet of this morning and the feast of colors destined to spoil his magic the sirens from the mysterious ships

Animal

With muzzle, muzzle or mouth open screams leave, sounds distinct in tone different in hue, intensity and manner conciliation codes in a wonderful world

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The movement of the body, a language that speaks each member moves a pen to draw words draws and meanings thoughts and feelings

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The youth of hunger or thirst the gab of joy, of the game my love... of love or bitterness

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Every sense and thought regulates them scream and movement sets which of us understands the tongue of the animals as if weaving

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Only a good observer listens sees and feels he can truly feel what the animal soul asks of him

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They ache, grieve and rejoice with faith they love, they treat us as companions they are afraid, they avoid, they feel everything they realize everything, they sit next to them in pain

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Many emotions in their world capture they move, they react, in difficulty they reach the solution intelligently organization of life every moment and season is different that even man is unable, with so much detail to carry it out...

Tabula Rasa

One day small or large a day like the others you fell in love again and you felt human again because loneliness is heavy and hardly endures you felt a hand to shake your hand a smile to warm you up a breath to give you breath the unhappy days extinguished at once from memory your soul became tabula rasa to write on it

the new love.

May

How beautiful the stars hang on the body of the night! As if the dreams took another course. Where their footprints do not meet the clouds. There! Remaining faithful to the planets every night...

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Do not look for falling stars in lyrics, they told me. The words of the world remain apart from innocence. And he was, who squeezed the wish with wounded hands and went into the darkness with the people, but the flames in his gaze they burned the ashes, like the spells of Fate in a bloody palm...

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So let the thoughts go around! Others will give them a place to close, and other pennies to continue.

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At the moment the hands remain sealed.

New Times

Leaving, on the doorstep the octopus spinner has woven the macabre its weft; on the way the deep red bougainvillea and warm as a stream of thick blood flowing in wide vein or reflection of fresh river blood magnetizes my eyes, in the gardens the all-fresh lilies are always upright soaked spears of war army, the clouds in small formations framed as a whitewashed ladder suspended in the ether, the antennas of gray buildings with a smug look to the sky perhaps medieval banners forgotten peoples, hollow brass legions of lost legions satellite dishes, all-white gardenias to be sewn from white arm of the armistice,

closed buckets filled rams ready for the daily siege of routine, these thoughts are fermented in the mind until I lifted my foot from her last slab of the road and I entered building with a sense of victory and defeat in an alloy. I leave the indescribable for the moment.

Absence

The time it was once non-existent maybe because he never wanted to to measure him properly. Now, keeping distance from events, feels like is the bronze that the wear has - exquisitely misleading and so much so painful that covered everything and learned to count from her absence. And as he counts them now, a thought dissolves him, perhaps it was never entirely his own.

O.R.

Murder is a beginning She will arm his hand Beyond any law or prayer He will wander but will reach the source of the debt. And the water will be red It will flow irregularly In the blur of the mind Red will be the color of the sky, while with his furious hand the two lovers ends. And his deed will be holy, that is how the court of the people will rule. There will be room for revenge, time to escape. Lonely hero, will be acquitted. He will drink Electra's tears

In them he will find all the power. The gods step aside In front of the man the parliament.

Sickness

The words get sick you should know that and their diseases is one of the most contagious it is difficult to find medicines from what I know the most powerful of all is silence

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and something else that goes along with the silence to wash your eyes every morning in the most gargling water and then let it wander like a traveler he caught new land

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Our words

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these; how will they tell us

Night

Few light from the open window in cracks that did not heal Moisture es between them of a dark past which gradually erodes the soft wall I touch it with my fingertips and crumbles dripping hollow whistles Frustrated words on the surface and the memory vibrates again Resist walking rhythmically in the empty space Then I pull hard the fabric from the covered mirror I'm afraid to look at my idol I look up At the top the roof is sluggish now with difficulty bears the weight of the night

I close my eyes and I am left to the screeching of a bird The dawn in this place late to come

Lunar Room

The moon here has faded Expectations dwindled And they are the stones that numb your feet And your eyelids hurt as the wind blows them and close What is the limit for this night? You are breathing carrying her shadows And friends are lost on foreign roads

Still Waiting

When the love tree graft it properly with endless toil and by a subject arise ambiguous tree and provides you with the affectionate continuity and it satisfies you then you have to take care of it to lubricate it with a caress to take care of it with deeds and talk to him every night either with a razor or with a mist; give him only a little fertile soil this will take deep roots to your soul give him some light and will marble in perpetuity give him some sky

and you will sail in its vastness; watch it as if ‘yes your reflection, your idol what he did over the centuries circles and now like a thick wavy ear of corn was given to you as a gift by the angels and from the walled Nature and draws you close to mortal immortality of fullness.

Last Memories

Oh, these moments from the past are coming alive in the present (slightly bright). They bring tears (as well as memories). They are dressed in music (unwritten), but they are not empty of your grief. And in the future they will (again) one reason, faceless, and to the end.

Coffee Shop

In the cafe a man, with a calm and pensive look. Coffee asks to be given, with a lazy look.

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He likes coffee, all that he wants. With several blistersdo not count them with the hook.

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He sits calm and peaceful, but he says his thoughts aloud. He curses politicians, his fate, everything that the country considers bad.

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We are, he said, descendants of personalities, philosophers. Plato, Socrates, Diogenes, the birthplace of heroes.

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And now, he shouted louder, what rivals rule us. People, how stupid you are, to vote again for those who wrong you!

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Responsibility to him, he did not give to anyone else. He only insulted them who were to blame as he judged.

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He was there every day, at his favorite cafe. He kept cursing but in himself responsibilities never rejected.