october

(you may need some translation site to get the Norse stuff, I can't promise any dead on accuracy)

dette er et dikt, en ode, til longing for kjærlighet fra et nihilistic sinn
it is empty
emptier than the solitary station of a lone monk
who was long ago
clawed away by the sea
and dusted from the memories
of those
who labored
to remember
even one syllable of his name.

this solitude
once held as bliss
has become a disease,
a cancer,
to which there is no definite end
other
than to cease existence.

words fail me
as strongly as i
have failed
all.
do not be shocked
at the lack of breath
that harbors and carries
the voice
which holds the words
that you once found so
endearing and humorous,
they're in hibernation,
not to exit the frozen cave
in which they starve;
self exiled.

i want to be awoken
by her stumbling, in the light of the dusk, over something
getting ready for work,
getting up to go to the bathroom,
and know that this bed is not mine alone
her skin
tinted blue by the time
through the windows
does not frastøt at my touch
shivers
not in avsky
but in glede..

she does not have a name
there are no details to her face
other than
her skin.
so soft
when it nears the ground
the concrete
turns to water.
her eyes
like slumbering embers
of understanding
that long
to comfort.
a fire ablaze
in a lost cabin
glemme tre av surreal drømer
that do nothing but haunt