Ephel Duath geldi, bir telaş hemen sözleri yazdım... Muhakkak ki bir yerlerde hata yapmışımdır, bir kere kontrol ettim ama... Görürseniz uyarın... Buradan buyrun:
The Passage
(pearl grey)
I've thousand ways to ruin all,
But I'm walking to poor choices
A negative pulse will be searching for me.
Immobilised in cerebral cell
I'm observing my steps...In vain...
Are you coming to poison my remarks?
This grating
Offers
Protective trees and feeble barriers
But is too distant,
The innocence's round dance
My various eyes are melting,
'cause the past is kidding me with the same
Consoling mask,
(But)I'm coming to the Passage,
The exit from this opaque, filthy case...
Come to listen...it's so refined the whisper of my rise...
(I'm )coming to the passage!
The Unpoetic Circle
(bottle green)
It is quite ironic,
I can't slow down this tun,
But this was my object:
To feel
Here,
Without disturbances,
Lives the sound,
I want to close this cycle,
But is it equilibrium?
We are sliding but all appears so
immobile.
And I'm so different from me:
It's so stupid.
Please sketch a portrait to define,
I will offer you our faces,
incompleteness,
indefinite resistance.
Here,
Without disturbances,
Lives the sound,
I want to close this cycle,
But is it equilibrium?
We are sliding but all appears so
immobile.
We are sliding but all appears so
immobile.
Labyrinthine
(crimson)
Smell this gentle condition...
Misanthropy.
is there something to respect?
Painting the same landscape again,
You can loose
What these fluid movements are electing.
The unconsious, undesired companion,
Wins.
It's so easy...
Now you can admire
This mental abortion,
He's not an illegitimate child,
He's your monster...
Why are you trying to suffocate?
Raise this figure and forget
Your unpure façade.
This is the way out.
This is the way out.
Labyrinthine!
Let the union occur.
Receive the essence with pride:
The old theatre is falling asleep,
This is the labyrinthine!
Smell this gentle condition...Misanthropy.
The unconsious, undesired companion,
Wins.
It's so easy...
The Picture
(bordeaux)
A never ending Painting,
No subject defined.
Not a precise style,
Confused traits poor colours.
Are you really able to find a message?
I,
Defeated.
Grow dim again,
To not graze this lying vision,
To not admire the banal.
Distantly,
Glittering sides try to illude,
Disturbing,
No results...Again...
I rove hearing the noise...of false moves.
Skimming transparent figures,
Observing a pale
And sober,
Painting...
I will deface it,
Enjoy the cut.
Ruins
(deep blue and violet)
...And in poor seconds,
the filthy figures surrounding
become obstacles...
Smell of acid thoughts.
Intoxicated eyes,
Madly,
Are searching for obscure calm,
But the partial blindness doesn't relieve,
And viscid words are shoves to the fury:
My hostile guide.
Memories contribute to mental fall,
Skin refuses to feel.
Hide my mind
From the unconscious desire
Of wound, deep wound.
I drag between a liquid grey and the hole
Intoxicated eyes,
Madly,
Are searching for obscure calm,
But the partial blindness doesn't relieve,
And viscid words are shoves to the fury:
My hostile guide.
No way,
By now, there's no way,
And I spit on these ruins.
What silliness...Quiet
Ironical Communion
(amber)
Sweet Irony,
hits my tangled troubles, and frees this
blade
from the stranding line
Cynically sildes,
Through dusty gemstone,
To offer a soft respite to my ethereal
plagues.
Let me cover with silence,
The figures around me:
A velvety sigh on the noisy stammering.
Grow to physical essence,
And heavily walk on this living mosaic
Called pain...
I can hear the breath of every dowel:
My demons are waiting...
Conceal this fool architecture
From my (singing) conviction
Blind my cyclopian, trifling eyes.
irony, my care.
My Glassy Shelter
(dirty white)
Is it so useless to talk
With these shill shades?
Sometimes it seems that
I spy my moves
Through the vent of a glass stone.
...But what am I observing?
The sandpit I'm digging
Doesn't seem deep enough,
'cause the cries of the wounded wave
are covering my strains.
But I long for this amorphous embrace
To reach close connections with my
Ego:
This is the spiral...
Is it so useless to talk
With these shill shades?
The Other's Touch
(amaranth)
It's so improbable to find the light,
When the clouds are rubbing me.
Words run creating hated scrawl,
Streets have nothing more to ask.
When I relive this Pain
Chessmen have a unique colour,
And the Clash begins.
I feel all the moves,
I know all the moves,
but I can't expect them:
'cause I'm the battlefield.
My feeble profile seems to implode,
My aural prison becomes the perfect hiding place.
View is overturning
To this internal Abyss,
Where
My withered leaves burn
And mirrors have nothing to reflect.