Winter evening.
White sheets await another poem
of going-return through life.
And I think about how in your absence,
how calm thoughts through words,
how they bandage the wounds remain open,
and how much love you my written lyrics.
Today I write about the balance in my soul…
It's so hard to decide!
Thoughts collide, wrapped in foils shiny,
delusive of hope ...
Energy overwhelming penetrating my body,
they moving me from my place…
Thought you calling, to come,
to hear your advice;
shaking once greedy drinking
from the fountain of your wisdom…
But where can you be found?
The poem finished with the same frozen sentiment
by your loss,
sliding out, towards the past in your arms
nesting speaking to you about longing - grafted tree,
the fruit with which I feed my soul,
leaving no the void - nothingness hunger –
to penetrate it…

Outside, snowflakes fall silently,
white and silent nothingness drawing.
My words written, love you so much!
But the balance of the soul
tomorrow will start again, to grind…