In my hometown there is a room. I grew up in this room, which has a bed crafted by hand.
I made this bed, but the room always remained the same. In this room there is a ceiling, full of words. These words I wrote, the poems are mine.


"Crawling back into myself; waiting and asking myself, if it could be true.
Taking my time to wonder when it may be, for my time to come.
Letting go but still holding on, I wait; I move to nowhere,
which is in the middle of everywhere.

You speak to me, as I close my eyes and walk away towards you.
Frightening myself of what I could be, while opening my eyes, I realize I am fading away,
but yet still here.

Laughing at you, I realize, I consider, I wake up.
Seeing you or you seeing me, I ask myself what the moment we share has given me;
to my conscience.

Closing my eyes I dream awake.
Fear becomes happiness, once the demon has been defeated;
sadness becomes joy for the century.

Frightened by yourself you hide in the light,
while I crawl out of the night in to the dark;
that is waiting to become its brightness."

Written by AWM on his bedroom ceiling,
sometime in 2006

newer post older post