End Of The World

When reaching the empty house

At sunset, hiding from the wind

This is where the memory

Of the dead are stored

Names written or engraved

In shells from the nearby

Ocean, people come here to die

It looks like a good place to

End your days in the lilac light

In a foreign country

Memories From A Broken Life

Watching the coffee drinkers

In a the chic café

The noise of people

Talking with muted

Voices

Quiet violence rushing

Into my ears

Hurting them

Memories of the terror

From earlier years awakens

Memories of torture day by day

Writing in subtle language

That do not heal the broken

Mind and heart

Meaning of Life

Maybe life has a meaning

But in the end it does not

Matter

It still too much suffering

To be worth it

Meaning for whom

What agenda drives

Your meaning

Your country, The church

Or maybe Ayn Rand

Never mind in the end

Is not worth it

You die alone

Anyway

Our Own Grave

Man is mans own slave

Digging his own grave

Every day

Soon we will all be gone

No one left

To sing our songs

Bad times are coming

My friend

We will all die

Together in the end

Mass extinction

It will be

You just wait

And see

Conman

Winter mornings

Are dark matters

We suffer, we the Slow moving creatures

Of this Earth

I’m just an ordinary conman

Doing my deeds

And sometimes getting paid for them

When we are gone we are forgotten

we the insects of mankind

That you need but always denies

The Hope That Died

I did see my hope

Slowly die in the

Cold and dark

Winter night

First it turned blue

And then red

In the end it quickly

Evaporated into the icy air

Leaving only me and the despair

Behind in the dark blue night

Jungle

In the middle of a jungle

No clear way out

Looking for orientation points

Chances of survival

Looks slim

Every action steals energy

Maybe we should stay

Here and die

Such a boring slow death

Never described before

Detrimental Subway

A slow moving train

Inside the pale white light

Gives no rest or mercy

For the tired men

Slowly killing their

Hopes and dreams in a

Calm and regulated fashion

While the solar year

Moves on and on

In an eternal circle

That eventually will

Put them underground

Forever

Very few tries to escape

The wheel of bad fortune

Fewer still succeed

Moving beyond

The possible or expected