Mountains Poem by Simon Morgenstern

How chilling and waking,
the wind from the mountains
is singing and crying,
and calling to me.
the pictures inside,
don´t know what love is
they´re praying and dying,
without any reason to be.
parts of my soul
like shards of a mirror
broken and pieces
scattered across
all of the voices of their haunting calls
long since forgotten
concealed but not lost.
its dreaming and singing
its songs in my head
a shadow of a man
between burning crosses
depraved and dishonest
in a most shocking way
a room of our future
with billions of coffins
and smell of our failure
and taste of decay.
and more will arrive
to feed on despair
and clear drops of brain that
few have since left.
and thoughts slowly die
replaced by blank stares
of those with holes
instead of hearts in their chests
and its dreaming and singing the songs in my head.