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owls are singing in the night
one single bird is holding on to its morning ritual
and the moon is full
odd dreams are stretching their long arms
into consciousness
leaving behind a certain unease
with whatever it was trying to tell
recognising ones dependence
is the first step towards
the end of every addiction
no matter how invisible
misbehaviour is misbehaviour
no matter how one disguise it
and there are indeed
many ways
the fall is falling
gently
not everybody is born
to be a star
but that does not mean
that everyone does not have one
only
that some
are walking in the shadow
able only to see
all the light
they do not have
some questioning
is compulsory
too much questioning
is suffocating
not enough questioning
is blind
there is a golden balance
to be found
the stars were out again
and a blush of pink
illuminating the clouds
as the only subtle manifestation
of sunrise
it does not always have to be
spectacular
to be efficient
beginning to discover
what one has been given
instead of running after
what one has not
is indeed
a tender relief
and a good place to begin
the moon is growing towards its fullest
the trees are losing their leaves
and there is nothing to be ashamed of
least of all vulnerability
when the sense of duty
is sneaking into
what was begetting joy
it is time to revise
since joy is as important for the soul
as blood is
for the body
changing the order of things
might be good for a change
keeping up appearances
might not always be
the good answer
the moon was showing its face of mystery
before rain sat in again
behind lightly uncovered trees
preparing their naked beauty
with every wind running through the forest
letting their inner structure surface
in all its glory
not even covered
by a shadow of shame
we all have a skeleton
meaning
we all have an inner structure
but not everyone has the patience
to let that inner structure surface
imposing a structure
might be a good solution
for impatient people
but it does not make it wrong for the patient one
to take their time
to let that inner structure
surface
even when it means
living for a while in the utmost unpleasant sensation
of lacking something as essential for the verticality
as a skeleton
reaching the end
of a tale
is when it is time
to begin another
life can be considered
an endless collection of tales
and that is
the beauty of storytelling
what is more appropriate than dissociation
while the fist golden leaves are separated from their branches
by a mild wind
covering the earth with golden rugs
than dissociating the imaginary
from what is
it does not make the experience more pleasant
only creates a certain harmony between
what is happening at the outside
and what is happening inside
sadness is the emotion coming along
whether it has been invited or not
and a tender sensation of lightness
revealing
that being a carrier of the imaginary
can be a heavier burden
than imagined