The rose wears red for beau­ty, not for bees;
The bee kis­ses the rose for love and not for honey;
The mas­ter tends the bee for natu­re, not for money,
And you buy honey for the mas­ters sake.

Oh, would such world be real and ours fake!
Beau­ti­ful, sel­fless world, all elves among the trees.
How could I love you in a world like that: ide­al?
How can you doubt it, that my love is real!


One-win­ged Angel” or „Let’s Embrace and Fly” by Rave­na Wolf, pink stea­ti­te

Love Song for the Gallery of Fools

What is Love?
The echo of a heart­beat in the night,
A tune that lin­gers on, a light
In the dar­ken­ed room, a fight
For sleep or against –
With your scent on my pil­low.

What is love not?
To expect, to need, an obses­si­on,
To suspect, to lead, a pos­ses­si­on,
A want or a creed
Or a song with a wil­low.

Do I love you?
I do.
Like what?
Like the echo of your tune,
The reflec­tion of your light.
I dress your scent that it might
Not come off and lea­ve too soon.

Does love hurt?
It does.
Like what?
Like an exqui­si­te tor­tu­re,
Like a bur­ning at sta­ke –
yet in hea­ven.

In Hea­ven
I would not wake,
If I can have this tor­tu­re,
Have you,
My love,
Or both.

„Orplid“ by Ravena Wolf, cast

Orplid” by Rave­na Wolf, cast

Lumi­nous Spi­rit”
by Birch Bark & Sun


No image­ry, while my ima­gi­na­ti­on
Is fil­led with spar­k­ling rea­li­ties.
For you are defea­ting my defen­ces,
Tur­ning pali­sa­des into pala­ces,
Plun­ging me into play­ful­ness,
Two parts apart, yet part of one.

Shall we begin the bygo­nes
Collec­ting can­dy-pearls on chains?
Or take rho­do­den­dron and roses for ran­som,
In ten­der­ness, timel­ess­ly tran­quil?
Is not melan­cho­ly mour­ning
For memo­ries to be?

With you:
Thread of life wound,
Tie of love bound, Sen­se of life found.
But threads can tie to the ground, bind
And the quest for sen­se cuts the bound
With wea­ry, win­ding, woun­ding wor­ds.

Hush, lis­ten, my love!
The­re it looms again.
Let us hide, quick!
See sen­se pass with its cru­el and limit­less light,
Lon­ging for our love’s lust­re.
Let us lin­ger. Let our love lose lan­guage.


Volup­tuous Spi­rit”,
sand-stone by Natu­re

If you want to con­tact me, feel free to send me a messa­ge.



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