a poem by Lukas Bartsch
When at last sand covers our traces,
will you find your way back to me?
To softly embrace me once more,
atop the scorched red desert sea.
When at last sand covers our traces,
think not on what may be ahead.
So, as you gaze up to the stars,
remember all we had instead.
When at last sand covers our traces,
put your weary hand in mine.
Let me keep your sorrows at bay –
I promise love, we will be fine.
a poem by Lukas Bartsch
I wander in phosphorescence,
not quite capturing its essence,
Tumbling falling through the aether,
high above yet still beneath her.
Ethereal realms thundering, colliding,
the heavens pondering still deciding.
Deep within the earth ascending,
in metamorphosis transcending,
the shining knight falls on the sword –
growing wings, becomes a lord.
In the light beyond the shades
freedom turns my fears to blades.
Roses drowning in the fog,
wallowing my mind does block
the comprehension of the form,
the wings the scales, the horn.
Hence, I’m trapped in waking hell,
my body but a tolling bell.
a haiku by Lukas Bartsch
A tall Gingko tree
has spread its yellow leaves far
out over my soul.
a haiku by Lukas Bartsch
A quiet evening
I read by the open window
the words fly away.
a poem by Lukas Bartsch
I adore
her soft ears more
than the claws
on her paws.
Her joyful purr
and fluffy fur
ease my strife
improve my life.
While she enjoys
mice-shaped toys
a warm lap
a peaceful nap.
And she loves
watching the doves
hoping to catch
herself a batch.
She fills with cheer
my apartment here.
a poem by Lukas Bartsch
I
Deep in the mid of darkest night
appeared to me a spectre bright.
Floating there suspended up high
mouth ajar in lone mournful cry:
Ah! Be damned you, too cold – too cold
is thy plane for us Spirits old.
II
Then rightly frightened did I deem,
this vision can’t be naught but dream.
Merely a nightly delusion
could explain this strange intrusion.
Steady, steady! I told my heart,
ere thundering you rip apart!
III
Yet the apparition remained.
Thus, my fear returned and chained
me anew to my wooden bed
draped now in icecold creeping dread.
And through the shutter coldly shone
moonlight on floating rags and bone.
IV
As suddenly the shutters shut
a cackling laughter froze my blood.
Emanating from rotten head,
its bluish hue now crimson red.
Summoning then from whence it dwells –
the lapping flames of fiery hells.
V
Mortal! I have risen to claim
the embers of thy lonely flame
which you had promised in return
for thy love avoiding her urn.
Ah! So now down – down we shall go.
Come freely or I make it so!
VI
Unholy demon, ghastly son of hell,
hear me now! Never did I tell
the devil he may claim my soul!
Never shall I offer this toll!
For I prayed to the angels above.
That they may in their mercy save my love.
VII
Pray – pray you did but not to God.
Did you, fool, never deem it odd
that the answer came from below?
For the angel that heard thy woe
was my father, fair King of Fire,
The Lord of Flies, Archangel, Sire!
a poem by Lukas Bartsch
Drag me under the surface.
Keep me there in waters deep.
Flooding me with your conscience
crashing down on me in waves
drown me in all that you are
till my heart turns to amber.
Then as the moon calls the tide,
spit me out back to the shore
