Into the dream you come, unbidden,
A shadow forged from light, a storm concealed.
The delicate strands of my quiet haven,
Unraveled beneath your touch, unhealed.

Across the soft carpet of my reverie,
You tread with hobnail boots, a jarring song.
Each step a symphony of discord,
Yet strangely, I crave you to linger long.

The velvet mists of my tender musings
Once kissed my soul with whispers sweet.
Now, torn asunder by your intrusion,
They coil around your resolute feet.

Oh, but how can I resist this chaos?
This beautiful wreckage you leave in your wake?
You trample the fragile blooms of my solace,
But in their ruin, new dreams awake.

For each mark you etch on my tranquil spirit
Speaks of passion, raw and wild, untamed.
You are the storm to my placid meadow,
The fire that leaves me scalded, yet named.

Do you know the weight of your intrusion?
Do you see the paths you've scarred and worn?
And yet, I cannot bid you to leave,
For in your rapture, I am reborn.

Into the dream you come, relentless,
And I, the keeper of this fragile space,
Stand transfixed, as you carve your essence,
Into the contours of this sacred place.

So tread, my tempest, tread without mercy,
Let your boots resound in my dream's embrace.
For though you shatter, though you unmake me,
In your destruction, I find my grace.

Reality is so unreliable. In the water of life we surf the wave of chance. Rise or fall as hunters in the snow. The isolating future is already here. But people are still people, they still need each other. The anachronistic branch of knowledge we are dedicated to - the day in, day out - is a deluded science. It is we who would be the objects of enquiry and fascination to an alien mind. Humanity is the true wonder, the true miracle.

I crave soft touches and gentle words.
Reassuring hands holding mine in the
darkness of this world. Sweet humanity
cradling my soul as I no longer fear for
the present. I wish for tender care given
by rough hands, silky hands, and every
hand in between. Love isn’t shown in
bravery or strength. It is shown in kind-
ness and compassion. Love is as bright
and soft as a full moon on a starry night.

What do you see, nurse, when you look at me?
A frail, weary man lost in time's endless sea?
Do you sigh as you dress me, as you lift, as you feed,
Thinking my silence is nothing but need?

Do you see only hands that tremble and shake,
A mind lost in shadows, a body that breaks?
Do you see the dim eyes, the slow, shuffling gait,
A soul out of time, just awaiting its fate?

Look deeper, dear nurse, beyond this old skin,
Past the wrinkles, the frailty, the world closing in.
For once, I was young, with fire in my chest,
A heart full of dreams, unburdened, unpressed.

I was a child, with laughter so bright,
Running through fields bathed in golden-hued light.
I was a lover, my pulse racing wild,
Holding her close, love's innocent child.

I was a father, strong, steadfast, and true,
Teaching small hands what life could undo.
I built and I shaped, I gave and I grew,
Watched them all flourish, then bid them adieu.

Now time plays its tricks, and my body betrays,
Yet inside I am dancing through long-ago days.
My spirit still soars, though my body is weak,
My voice still longs for the words it can't speak.

So look at me, nurse, not as fading, not done,
Not just a burden, not just anyone.
See the years, the love, the battles, the scars,
The dreams that still shine like forgotten stars.

For within this old man, there's a soul fierce and free,
If only you'd look, if only you'd see.

Every time I recognize this feeling
in the tonality of deeply shifting sounds...
The words start to flow—
so naïve,
with illogical convictions
not to doubt.

I think I’m in trouble,
but I smile at this joyful,
passing state of thought.
Utopia is Utopia, meant not to exist—
It’s a controlled illusion, like a sedative.

I can go there and return
in a millisecond of a human thought.
Creating alternative worlds,
following the traces
of a tender yet aching life.
It keeps me, for a moment, feeling
so vast, deep, and complete.

Outside, I’m so distant from games.
Sometimes I don’t even remember
the language I used to speak.
Unfamiliar words come to me
like a flashback, like déjà vu...
Finally, to recognize where I exist—
in the present moment, in real
circumstances, assumptions.

This is not a bizarre illness
to try to understand…
My reflections inside are still safe.
I just hold every shattered human soul,
seeing them without judgment,
without control…
This is my quiet, ephemeral way
to set compassion free.

Anxiety before anxiety,
sorrow before sorrow,
word before word.
I think it will arrive sooner
than I expected…

Had I felt differently?
Had I known better?
That “thing” was imprinted
on the heart of each child
before it was forgotten.

The Z boson? A particle of God?
Inner awareness?
Lightness and compassion
screaming: keep going!
Forgiveness is a gift
for healing.

I prefer to withdraw.
Foreseeing the future
is too painful.

I feel safe in my inertia,
my comfort zone, not acting
but that intrusive voice
keeps shouting: don’t stop!

If it weren’t the fear of fearing,
sorrow before sorrow,
word before word…
They don’t bother me anymore.
For different circumstances,
I’m ready now.