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  • Poetry


    How long ago I was nursed as an orphan child by the Summer Firestorm! Now heavy, heavy, leaden Autumn haunts me. The season now gives its juicy, succulent fruits to Nature, but who knows? It may be as it should be. Between two points even now my shipwrecked life stretches like a bow. I can hardly find peace or repose in the playful, frivolous drift of moments.

    Towards the future, it is true, I would still be dragged along by tamed roots of hairs longing for fulfilment, but the ominous smell of everyday life makes my nose sniff: "Beware, for they will pull the melodious honeyed smell away from you! In the forest of Mátraszentimre, where the deer are crying, is the little acorn tree we planted together still there? Perhaps the forester cut it down long ago, some forest animal cut off its branches.

    It would often be better to be free for good from the wombs of the Executioner-gods that hold us captive, that hinder us. I cannot leave my comfort zone - in ...

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    Every hum

    How sweet

    Rhythm the sound

    Franklyn Greene the man

    Had his own demand

    Lived to proof


    True Sportsmen

    Solid foundation

    Hourglass timed out

    Whispers from the distance

    Distances far and close

    Yesterday’s past

    Tomorrow’s everlasting

    The one day came

    Followed by soar

    Beyond the eyes of the world

    Descended and transitioned

    I will always remember

    Encouragement gained

    Honor in the Blakie call

    Embrace from Brotherly to Brotherly

    Heart driven with every beat

    Every talk was a treat

    Every joke had a laugh

    Peace, Comfort and Tranquility

    Thank you for your friendship

    This is not goodbye, but until we meet again

    Blakie waves

    I promise I will behave

    Blakie out


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    Like a snail shell, I waited motionless for years ... I would have waited for some celestial signal, a cacifant message, a spirit-intelligible dance of melodies, a call from the Dear when he confessed: maybe he still loves me golden, his precious heart, but he does not dare to get out of a relationship doomed to loss. The cheese-colored arches of the chalk-legged moon paint amber lights on the wall of the room stuck in the evening. 

    Memories to tumble their instincts and failures into the latent, restless obscurity. I wanted to hear about it, no matter how familiar Life develops, harmonious happiness might even find me here. 

    Attention to the traces of my vigilant, destroyed years, how the aspirations and living factors influencing existence in the way of polite, passing guests fade away and fade away from me. The blessing of Blinded Time – now applies only to some privileged. 

    The ...

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    Without exception, we cheered together, in chorus: “We finally graduated! There is no more who can torment us! After open humiliations, our favorite teachers could hardly have found a target "- As our festive colored balloons flew, our restless hearts with homesickness would have drawn abroad in the commissive voice of longing.

    ,,Buddy! Come with us to England, or wherever you want! ”They called with encouragement, promising that it would still be much better outside than locked in an uncertain, unknown vision inside. My unstoppable soul would have preferred to soar with them, but my sober food suggested something else: "You have a different task!" And although Ferihegy was close by, a winged machine monster took me away from all my purposeful, planned dreams. How simple everything seemed then!

    ,,My sweet boy! You get a low-cost ticket from me and then God from me to you! ”Said my good father as he was more terrif...

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    Song of Sorrow

    Beneath the moon's soft and eerie gleam,
    I confide secrets, kept in a hidden scheme.
    This inner ailment, my weight to endure,
    Concealed from loved ones, in misery, I'm sure.

    Conversations strained, words I can't convey, 
    The pressure building with each passing day.
    Suffocating thoughts, they never cease, 
    A cage of despair, my heart's release. 

    Exhaustion consumes, a relentless tug, 
    I yearn to escape, break free from this lug.
    Their sadness may linger, but it's my plea,
    To find solace in darkness, to finally be free. 

    Though tears may flow, when I finally depart, 
    This choice offers respite, a brand-new start.
    For if I linger, the sadness will cling, 
    A lifetime of mourning, a bird with a broken wing. 

    For in this darkness, I see the light, 
    An escape from endless, ...

    17  0
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    Sometimes in one’s life they often wonder why do they write?
    The words guide one in what to say

    The thought it should go this way

    This is a mission every day

    Writing comes from the heart with a need

    That’s the proceed

    What do people see?

    Is writing from thoughts yesterday and it became tomorrow sought?

    Some people won’t be honest in being false, and not tell the truth

    Years have moved on since my youth

    Wisdom is living proof

    It goes beyond words

    Mounts to the bull’s eye of understanding

    Comes down to experience and knowledge gained

    One can always say, but can one believe?

    Full of questions

    The real questions and answers come from within

    Abilities and assurance

    Confident at will

    Writer true with no false details

    No worry of Fail

    Momentum of one’s trai...

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     As soon as I grasped the only faithful fruit of your love, and as a small drop, I became an enthusiastic angel longing for consciousness and curiosity, a biological existence, a faithful and anxious flow, your priceless treasure rocking lap is like a double-pole and iron solid magnet attracted you like an unbreakable heart cord, my dear single, and sometimes fragile mother with lion faith, as a breast milk elixir that also serves to fertilize the development of a child!

     On your determined and purposeful frugal face, the beautified memories of the years and my past are preserved by the eyeballs of an ocean-blue sky, and I search and curiously try to figure out what they could have written with a will of soul, in your existence have the testimonies of the crushing of silver threads over your head? And you know how much you mean to me, some heartfelt, priceless mother!

     If, as a blessed-hearted perseverance of your loyalty as a thin...

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    In the yellow room, faded, memory-evoking photographs patiently invite people to remember. The sweet, gentle scent of pink hyacinths caresses the air. Outside, in the garden, the old peach trees have long since shed their sweet, twiggy fruit, and while in the kitchen the jam was simmering, sweet and flowery, everyone was sitting at the table, eager to eat it spread on bread. With your headband, like the daughter of an industrious sultan, you stirred jam, and it was good to watch you balancing the wooden spoon between your tiny but firm fingers.

    Ominous storm-clouds threaten in thundering clouds, While in broad meadow no lightning-struck tree-stump shakes; What Apokfrif message does the troubled deep send to man? The orange sunset was all at once crimson, then purple, And conscious desolation broke upon me again! See, my dear, you have reminded me again! The farther you are from me in body, your golden soul is overflowing, visceral! The prison-guards of my ...

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    In a universe where slumber's veil did gently sway,
    She stumbled upon a bronze figure, guided by reverie's way.
    Together they nestled in a bed of moon's soft grace,
    And as the night wore on, their spirits did embrace.

    With the break of dawn, he stirred from his repose,
    Moved toward the window, where the morning light rose.
    There, he stood, a silhouette in the sun's gentle glare,
    His skin aglow, a shimmering, radiant affair.

    Yet his face remained elusive, obscured by the haze,
    A handsome beauty, caught in a mystic daze.
    She inquired, "Who are you?" with a curious plea,
    He smirked, whispered, "Time will set you free."

    A promise hung in the air, like a whispered refrain,
    As he turned away, left her in wonder and pain.
    "We shall cross paths once more," he did proclaim,
    Leaving her with longing, longing for...

    24  0



    You see, my friend, everything is already working against us. Shards of light from a collapsing, spacious sky, like a scalpel or a sharpened knife tip, send us its cumbersome bricklaying every day. We no longer even discuss or investigate who was right: eleven or a few years of friendship can do no harm. It’s a pretty luxury thing these days to have a conscious doubt that one should back down.

    I've heard you curse and squeal heartily, even on the boards of an atomic bomb-inspionage stage, and just behind the scenes. As a poor Otello, your face was plastered by a brownish chocolate mass while your beautiful, chirping Desdemonade swept across the stage like a swan-ballerina subrette. "This ragged life has played well with us!" You sang. I can no longer say what you know you want to hear. We have both been pathetic figures out of Existence and graces! After the stage, you washed your makeup and made it totally inaccessible in your mundanen...