As clouds gather and the wind grows stronger, I feel the endless fear of
being. As I watch the bird flee into the trees, not safe, in danger, in
wind. I cannot deny the dreams I have at night. The feeling that remains
when I wake up.
In these dreams I feel myself being torn into the eye of
the storm. I feel that I’m outside in the rain and I’m scared. Yet it is
an attraction so strong I cannot defy it.
The sleep has numbed my mind
into a dimension where the landscape has been swept of all signs of
humanity. It is a scene of plains, mountains, forests, lakes. It looks
dark, as if it’s either the birth or death of something very important.
And still it is static. It is a sight of much appeal. I feel like home
here. A sea, in the distance, I can hear it’s gigantic quiet majestic
sound. This is my death, my heaven. There is no need for any action. Only
the wind, the rain and the sea. It is only to observe and feel. I would
like to live the end of it.
In the distance a black lake glimmers in the violence of the wind.
Monumental clouds deprive me of my breath (do I still breathe). The sound
in this world makes my tears alive (do I still have eyes to cry with).
The lake is nearer now. I still hear the wind and the sea as I stand at the
edge of the lake I try to perceive the blackness of the lake. But it’s
impossible. The depth of it reminds me of my soul. The only seasons here
are winter and autumn, autumn and winter. I stare into the lake, snow,
rain, wind. And I die by the side of this lake. And I live by the side of
this lake. In this world.
And I know when. When the time has come. When everything will start to
deteriorate around me. When I it is time, I will go in, into the lake, into
darkness. Into the black. Into…
But before that time comes, I will roam this world. This place which
resembles my longings. Fulfills the feelings I wish for. It keeps my soul
alive. And my black lake will always be there. For when the time. Has.
Come.