Monday, August 28, 2006


Sandaler sklir
mot broket bakgrunn
Snø i ørken
som regn i havet
Tint og smeltet sammen

Friday, May 12, 2006


A single tear would tell of her sorrow.
A witness to the days gone by,
a life of emptiness.
The pain was hers to bear.

Blindly they surround her.
Strangers unable to see,
unwilling to notice.
Closing their eyes, their image lived on.

The Dancer

Graciously moving,
hands, arms, legs, neck.
Images of life flashes from within.
As a voice, her body tells the stories,
wordless, silent, still.
Seemingly effordless in the move,
yet trembling and warm,
her feet move to make yet another
whisper to those watching.

The Moleskine Journal

He opened the cover, turned few of the pages and bit thoughtfully on the end of his pen.

As the ones gone before him, down the road of greatness, he would join in their ranks and make it.

He would be the one. The greatest of his time. Remembered - and loved - by thousands!

His mind wandered. Thin, silvery threads of his imagination spun pictures in his mind. He lifted his pen...

The inkspot grew - first slow, then faster - as the tip of his pen dug into the pages of the book.

Filled with frustration, he burned the book. Broke the pen. Turned his back to the world he once loved.

Once longed for - one time loved - always looked upon with regret. A life of lost dreams is not a life at all.

Never more!

She dreamed, but not of this.

Powerless, she stood watching
how someone else took hold of her life
and coloured the roads for her.

Silent, she accepted someone else
standing there instead of her. Leading
her into a life she didn't want.

Finally, she stopped. Took a deep breath
and looked at what her life had
become - and she moaned of disbelief.

With two small words, as if taken
from a Poe poem, she regained control.
Unsecure and doubtful, she turned
her back to it all and walked away.

May 2.

Her eyes put a spell on me.
The kindness of her soul made them
shine, and I could feel the way they
made me lose myself from this world.

I made myself look at her - all of her.
Her long, dark hair - curled down
her back - red lips. Her hads, so
small and thin, I feared they'd break
by a mere touch.

Her smile made me want to know more.
Made a fire underneath my consentration,
and everything cooler then her golden
flames was pushed from my side.

I cannot recall the voice she had, nor the
words she spoke. I know not if she was
light or dark - thin or round. All I see
are her eyes - and I feel the spell.
And then - like a breath of air - she is gone.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Bleeding mask

She spends many hours looking at her hands, her slim, pale hands. Skin so thin you can see the blue streaks and whiteness of the knockles when she bends the tiny limbs in her fingers. Her fingers, short and stump, yet at the same time long and thin, almost graceous. Her nails never seem to be the same length.

She stares at her face in the mirror when she goes to the bathroom, a small chamber, almost prisonlike, hidden in the back of the staff warderobe. Small, round, childlike. Pale, even when the spring sum creates freckles over the tiny, straight nose. Her cheeks small, marked by a couple of birthmarks. No big ones, only small, almost tiny ones, giving her face a characteristic look - a look like no other. Her eyes, wide, dark, insecure. Often, she finds herself realizing that her eyes wander, even when talking to somebody. As if keeping the still, fixed, on one point, would cause her to be stuck. Dark eyes. Dark, as none others she'd ever seen. Her lips, a pale shade of red. Natural, perhaps with a touch of moisturing lipgloss, but no lipstick. That goes for the whole face - no makeup. But still, there's something there.

Others see her as intelligent, open, witty and smiling. That puzzles her. How can they think that? Where do they see that? Is it really her they talk about - or someone else? She can't help it. It's a role she's playing. The one on the outside, looking in on the creation of others. Somehow it's safe. A distance. But at the same time frightening. If she doesn't know who that is, then how can anyone else?

Her insecurity is a burden she shares with noone else. Noone else would understand. Stepping outside in the morning, her face is ready, steadily holding on throughout the day, until the evening, until coming home. Unlocking the door also means letting the defence down. And she hangs her mask up beside her coat, ready for the day arriving past the night.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Embrace - and gone.

Her choices weren't many, that day when she walked out of the apartment, trotted down the alley and out to the mainway. Setting off to work, a place of utter most displeasant distress, where the feeling of belonging only seemed a little further away for each day passing, she slowed her steps as she reached the forest. Letting her mind wander off on it's own, her feet still managning to stay on the path. Gigantic spring-green trees leaning heavily over the path, a result from the previous hours' fall of rain. Knowing, somewhere in the wandered off-mind, that the path would end in a few hundred yards or so, her pace slowed further, until she barely moved onwards, until she finally stopped, the tips of her shoes a mere inch from the side of the road. She stood there, still, breathing, for some time, maybe longer. The light from the sun glimmering in the drops of rain clutching the straws of grass, shining in the leaves of the trees, blinding her already empty eyes - for her mind was still somewhere else. Blinking, as if trying to return to reality, she turned and walked back into the forest, this time her feet purpously left the path, and led her into the depths. The light's strength fading as the sounds of the forest surrounded her - lifted her up and brought her away.