Triptychon 3 6 9

III
Recognising cascades gleaming
Hurricanes of obsolescence
Finishing the distance here
Set a point
Make it clear
But there is no line to see
The boundaries are vanished
It’s like looking through frosted glass
Walking on pointed stones
When facing this society
And it shows
The rhythm of this poem stumbles
Like the denier mumbles
Through their non-existing mask
What a task
To fulfill
and still
I’ve got some hope
Left.

VI
Finishing transmission
From inner space
Breathing deeply in and out
Lying flat on the ground
Taking in the warmth of time
Looking into that intern mirror
Seeing the rolling dice
Not stopping yet
The limits aren’t set
Will there be peace?
Will there be war?
The dice has been thrown
But who wants to know
If the clock’s still ticking?
and still
My mind is mimicking
All historical knowledge
Gained from the books
As it looks
Marx has been right.

IX
Liberate the dreams that reach
Rolling into every little speech
Enthusiasm’s showing
Desperation’s still growing
Looking on the yellow leaves
Looking up
Looking for a group of thieves
To take some emptiness back
That strength of the soul
That we all lack
These days
and still
I wouldn’t kill
The tragic hope
We feel about this continuing slope
Of counting numbers
The doors are locked soon
May you feel like a goon
You’re too loon
To give up.