In tears, silence, life of holy pain,

the poet hopes to hear his muse once more,

´cause the word is lost when he needs its gain.

But just then, in a quiet, fading roar,


becomes the unspoken, yet same old world.

Now times is short, the origin of things,

and “love”, “hope”, “life”, are but one with the word,

and yet flies away on deceitful wings.


The poet trails time to high blue, deep hell,

and with raging passion, his greedy jaw,

tries to keep time in it´s fast open well –

but learns to late he broke the muse´s law:


He who seeks the origin of all things,

end up in tears and only silence brings.