they are

locked and no one

gives me the key

 

they have lived there for a thousand years

(as old as my soul feels)

pulsating, alive, fluid

 

they are wild and lonely

words

of mountain summits,

love,

somehow light–

and

dusk

 

life and death

so close together

when life rises glimmering,

knowing

death comes

 

I will die

if I do not have

them

 

but though they live,

burning inside me

I do not

understand them

 

and somehow death comes

again, and again.

 

words,

oh these words!

 

light slips through my fingers

 

*author’s note: sometimes I write things that I barely understand myself. But if I really could understand this, it would never have been written.