Christoph Praus

...

Pistons roaring off the track,
But hopefully we'll make it,
Back among the Stones,
Between the mist and metal,
...

But one bird,
Had not misheard,
Likened to a K,
Rake and pent,
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There is on top, the world,
A mountain tallest, red skied,
Black stoned fort, terrible cubed,
Wormholed deeply tunnels twist,
...

The Righteous flew,
Through brook and brush,
Fell breath upon his heels,
A dracjon's wing against the sky,
...

Beyond the Pale moon trees,
A bloodied hand,
Clasps rotten ground,
Goes whirling past,
...

On a gull's wings spread,
His scaling cries across the wind,
And winding him through currents vast,
To places known and not without,
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Happy is she,
Careless and free,
Atop her redbrick fortress,
The day is her plaything,
...

Flowers, grass, we have to ask,
Where could they have gone?
The ground is bare,
With greenish flair,
...

The squamous things that lurk,
Slick little darknesses that hide,
Deep within that hollow core,
That needling hurt,
...

...

I live and the sun beckons,
The wind chills and renews,
The scent of nature arrives,
And I am complete and here;
...

...

Even a daggered jewel shines,
As it reflects and twirls and grows,
Sharded now and sharply worded,
But I'll never hold it, never mine,
...

A living castle he,
Impervious, imperious ponderously,
He charges into aeons,
Sunders all upon his path,
...

...

Behold the bookcase burning brightly,
I hold this thought so ever tightly,
And should this thought seek to abscond,
This deeply, darkly, dark beyond,
...

It begins with flashes, sharp, electric,
Sleep won't come, but wakefulness abides,
Nightmare lies that way, but welcoming,
Great, wracking sobs tear at every muscle,
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Pale, alien curves suspended in each grain,
A desert stretches before and behind me,
Which hot and laboured winds blow forth,
They wrap and confine me in blissed warmth,
...

Is the choice so difficult?
Is it binary or multi-pathed?
And can one make the right choice?
And is choosing wrong set to last?
...