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Poem's successful, still being hot.

For politician it's measured in voices,

And for musician it's all in the noises.

For the reporter - it's in sensations,

And for astronomer - in observations.

As for the priest - it's measured in souls,

And for each medic it's counted in bowels.

For common mystic it's in divinations.

What of the killer? In annihilations.

For simple writer it's in the novels,

For complex digger it's in the shovels.

For undertaker this one's in corpse,

For the oculist this one's in orbs.

It's in new places for endless strollers

And for all merchants all in the dollars.

And for the army it's in the wars ...

Now do you see where successful one goes?

And for the planet it's in the us.

Want be successful? See where this goes?

Or will prefer not to race for success,

Driving as madman, always in stress?

Spirit success now is being so rare ...

Poem's successful ... what do I care?

11.04.2010

Heart

When one is set in own path

He will escape all crowd's mass,

And will be ready for the fight

With own demons of the blight.

He will prevail after all,

But pay a costly, dire toll,

That toll will be his former life ...

He shall destroy it in the strife.

The flame of heart may break one's night,

The flame of heart destroys the blight,

The flame of heart is endless fire,

The flame of heart is your desire.

My word is blade and song is shield,

And I'm still fighting on the field

In some eternal, endless war ...

That fight is fierce - but what for?

I cannot flee, I cannot run,

My armor glistens under sun,

And blood now feeds the earth below ...

I am, like others, one in row.

My throat is dry, my thoughts all spin,

And hope to end the fight is thin,

It won't extinguish by itself -

For I am fighting with myself.

My mind is helmet for the head,

My heart is armor in the red,

And as the drops of blood now burn

That heart is ready for its turn.

My heart is afire, engulfed in flame,

My heart is afire - and yet just the same,

My heart is afire wherever I go,

My heart is afire - and let it be so.

10.05.2009

Purifier

The webs of past are thick to hack,

And maze of life is cold and dark,

There are no torches on its walls ...

You wander by without goals.

Ancestors’ bones all lie below ...

You'll end like them, of this you know.

What is the meaning of your road?

You are destined to die and rot.

The slime on walls became your food -

It is edible, but no good,

The veil of darkness is your cloak,

And heart resembles walls of rock.

The pits on floor possess no threat -

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