Long Time Ago In The War

Once I visit the war

As a curious stranger

A young man with

(Quite) noble motives

The war was in full swing

Being near the frontline

In a besieged city

Listening to random shooting

Feeling trapped and scared

I felt very well, being in a sort of

Hypertension being aware

Feeling strong and present

I returned to my safe country

Leaving the war behind

I fell and kept on falling

Feeling like a rundown

Tired octogenarian

The tiredness never left

Remembered

what will I ever be

Remembered for

My name, my words

No that will not survive

No written account will remain

Only the movement

I once learned will

Stay far far in the future

The King

The old exercise fields

Are frozen and barren

The revolution has been canceled

Only the monument remains

Now owned by the king

That is slowly

Regaining his power

In our more and more

Unequal society

The future belongs to our overlords

Be they capitalist or nobleman

The people has surrendered

Admiring power and plentifulness

Staying quiet and docile

In their humble abodes

Movements

So now we are trying

To change the world

Again

Beating up every effigy

And statue we can see

Hopping to change the world

One statue at the time

But maybe

By demonstrating we keep

Barking up the wrong tree

But what would the right tree be?

That beats me

The Right

The right side of history

I am on the wrong side

By the way

Always, every time

Curious listening

To everyone

Life

Meaning?

There are no meaning

No possibility

Nothing

Only gravel and dust

Will remain

Still

That is

Something

On History

The history repeat itself

Creating endless

Monotonous patterns

Eternal questions and conflicts

Are being weaved to a huge web,

A carpet covering

Our mind and thoughts

We are here because

The great ecosystem, Gaia

Has put us here

Trapped in our own limitations

Our own mind

Still this is not true, sometimes

A surprise happens and we rise

Again and again

Above ourselves

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