A Stench of Paradise

Just being here

Trapped on a small island

In the wast emptiness of the mind

Another slow day

In the summer

A day so still that we are

Creating conflicts as a pastime

Running around in our own mind

Tearing down Paradise

Invisible

Traveling along the small trail in

Far north

The road keeps turning

This road

Were once used by the

German Vermacht

Built by the Germans

After they hunted all the

Islanders away

This is not a road but still a road

Overgrown by flowers and nettles

Like history itself more

Fiction than fact

But still underneath

The stones and gravels

Are there as well as some

Barbed wire

The Storm

Water filled the holes that dotted

The dirt road

The storm coming from an

Unexpected direction

Earlier this year

Took many of the trees

Creating a new landscape or

Maybe a monument, a dump

As symbol of the instability of the

Existence on this tiny island

In the far north

New Paths

Changing path is a hard thing

Only done when necessary

Finding a path can be even

Harder when there is no one

There to help you out

Like looking for a place

To rest from the wind

On a barren island

On a way