The Future Foggy Mountain Dew

I'm walking through the forests on a foggy winter's day
Bare trees and snow surrounds me
The temperature is a couple of degrees above
the point of what separates ignorance and love

I watch the footsteps from where I came from
I seem to have left som prints in the world to come
What do I tell, how do I live?
What am I to leave or give?

Many won't know your name or your path
Don't expect yourself to fingure out all the math
But don't let the apathy be your snare
You can participate if you care

Many won't recognice your face on the picture
standing next to your coffin some day in the future
What do you want to leave those people?
Faith, hope, love, or another puzzle?

It's your choice to make the days
count, thought rapidness is their pace
What equipment do you provide for those who
are to navigate though the future foggy mountain dew?

Lonely Christmas

Light shades and glitter fall to the ground.
The sky's turning grey and rain's pouring down.
I'm staying at home wearing my gown
while people rejoice all over the town.

Dinner is ready, the Christmas tree too
but what are these pleasures without someone who
share it and sing along with my song?
To sing it alone again feels very wrong.

But there is no choice left to be made.
Being alone is being a shade.
And without no family, without no friend
a Happy Christmas is for me to pretend.

But with this scenario, with this event
I'll still choose this day, this very moment
And devote it to thankfulness for all the things
the year has bestowed me. And bitterness gains
no root.

The History of Individuals

Many people, many men have long gone passed away.
I know every one of them had many things to say.
Many things to teach the generation of this time.
Wisdom, knowledge, hopes and stories of which we are blind.

Other times and destinies, other views of things.
Some people died young so early, flew away with wings.
Secrets come and secrets go. They sometimes end in graves.
The history of individuals dissolves, grows weak and fades.

Rush

Why, oh why, do we always rush from A to B?
Is everywhere the destination, this shouldn't really be
The tempo of this caos world, it kills the peace inside
The silence of our nature got an eageness to hide

And if we just sit down alone and close those tired eyes
Then do we call it laziness which is to be despised?
What happened to the peace we once were given as a gift?
The peace of mind that once was there to find, it seemed to drift
away...

Another Day is Gone

I'm  watching the sun going down
The color of orange is covering the ground
Light disappears slowly into the horizon
Another day is gone

Days are slipping through my fingers
Nothing lasts, nothing stays or lingers
But the thought of it is wisdom or poison
Another day is gone

Many people grow old saying
"I am planning, I am waiting"
Someday they might realize that of thousands,
another day is gone

I'm watching this and I understand
that I now hold a treasure in my hand
I enjoy the day today
And another day is gone

A Bowl of Golden Apples

A complement or some advice
can make another human wise
Unlike some silent mocking pebbles
they're a bowl of golden apples

A golden apple makes you good
It's like a nice refreshing food
which satiates you, makes you strong
when the road you walk is tough and long

They lift up people's minds and souls
and patch the old and wounded holes
You'll be ready to fight battles
if you eat some golden apples

Cheer those apples you might find
They are jewels to your mind
A complement or some advice
are golden apples of great size

The Perception

(Dedicated to my sweet Hanne)

The woman in the mirror
has an ordinary face
Not totally free of wrincles
but maybe worth a gaze
And though she doesn't know it
the other people see
a pretty worthy creature
who reflects eternity

A perception might be disorted
by the observer's eye
It depends on clear cut standards
or models, but then why?
Why should there be some people
who decide the basic rules?
Do they decide what's beautiful?
It's really kind of cruel

And so the pretty lady
with the mirror in her hand
lays the mirror down and leaves
She does not understand
why she cannot transform
and why she cannot be
what she would call a standard
What she would want to see