The Fiesie


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The Tower – 31.12.2015


Deep in the moorland country stands an abandoned tower, its crumbling summit black against the sky. There’s such a hopeless atmosphere around it that not even bats or crows call it their home. The massive wooden doors with their steel mountings show no signs of decay or rust though and they are tightly shut and locked. Impenetrable or so it would seem.

But during certain stormy, rain lashed nights the doors creak open and spill forth a warm and welcoming light into the wilderness. A beacon for stray wanderers on the marsh or other lost souls. Those out in the bitter cold who see the glowing light are drawn towards it like moths to the flame. They follow it and enter the tower – never to be seen again.

In the morning the doors are shut tight again and the tower looks empty and bar of all life again. There are no signs to show that anybody had been there just the night before and no sound penetrates the still air.

So if you ever happen to find yourself on the moors at such a night and see a warm, flickering light in the distance – turn your back and walk away. And you might find your way out of the marshes unscathed. If your will is strong enough to resist the call of the tower.

The Dark – 29.12.2015

Tonight the moon is high

and I feel like flying

Higher and ever higher

till I can touch the stars

I always love the night

and the moon and the stars

Darkness has been my friend

since my earliest childhood

It’s like a worn old cloak

that I put on for comfort

With the stars for buttons

and the moon as a clasp

Silver light on black velvet

cold but oh so beautiful

The moon is my guardian

she watches over me at night

Nothing evil can touch me

I’m safe in the dark

NIGHT – 28.11.2015

There’s a full moon in the sky

while bats breeze gently by

The palms are softly swaying

though no wind is straying

The sand is glowing silver white

all is still and silent in the night

As if the sky itself held its breath

balanced between life and death

No sound no motion but the waves

touching gently on the oceans graves

Of drowned ships and buried treasures

there can be no earthly measures

Time goes by with stealthy treads

counting lives like shiny beads

But suddenly there’s a whisper up ahead

the dark horizon slowly turning red

Moon hides her face and turns around

while Sun comes up with brazen sound

The silence broken by another day

while night’s bereaved of sway

Till Moon rises from the deep again

nourishing the dreams of men

The Knife – 14.01.2015

Hello my dear, don’t fear! It’s just me looking over your shoulder. Don’t be startled, I wouldn’t dream of hurting you. But I’m not dreaming right now, am I? The knife? Oh, it just happened to be there so I picked it up so it doesn’t get lost. Am I lost? Maybe…

Blood? Oh, I must have cut myself but I can’t find a wound… Maybe the knife was already bloody when I found it? Let me wipe it clean. Look how the blade glitters in the moonlight. It looks sharp doesn’t it? But something seems to be missing now that it’s all clean. As if the blood had belonged to it all the time. It’s whispering to me… it says it’s thirsty. Can you hear it? No? Here, listen a bit closer… closer…

Yes, you made the knife happy now. It’s no longer thirsty. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. I’ll hide you where nobody can find you. Somewhere safe. Don’t be afraid, you won’t be alone for long. The knife will soon want to drink again… and again… and again. And then we can all play together in the safe place. Forever.

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