Overlooking the fjord I renew my fascination for the sea.
The naked escarpment yields to a golden frame of sand.
Land changes into sea like as in a knife’s edge.
In the breaking waves the monotonous diapason of the days.
 

The shadows of the clouds linger over the greyish sea.
I can see my identity submerged in long anxieties.
If only I did not retain any traces of memory.
 

Intended to love but was transfigured in sorrow.
Searched for sanctuary in the distance but feel trapped.
Creating became painful, once it was shear pleasure,
 

Life is not art, it leads me to write apprehensive lines.
A thousand colours surround me as I descend the steep hill,
Nature is no debutante, radiating confidence,
The Nordic spring seems to be laughing…
 
 

M.Daedalus