December

Across decades

I cannot see

to comfort myself

undone

incessantly

I seek you

with a gentleness so violent

on a bitterly cold December 

when the snowflakes

tap on your window

It is me, asking how you are

really...

Her inner beauty

made a slave of me

-Solvarg

how fast 

everything becomes the past

it is mortifying to remember

that you were just there

frail

presently leading 

nowhither

the only way to live

is to die in this world

-Solvarg

“The world” is the general name for all the passions. When we wish to call the passions by a common name, we call them the world. But when we wish to distinguish them by their special names, we call them passions. The passions are the following: love of riches, desire for possessions, bodily pleasure from which comes sexual passion, love of honor which gives rise to envy, lust for power, arrogance and pride of position, the craving to adorn oneself with luxurious clothes and vain ornaments, the itch for human glory which is a source of rancor and resentment, and physical fear. Where these passions cease to be active, there the world is dead…. Someone has said of the Saints that while alive they were dead; for though living in the flesh, they did not live for the flesh. See for which of these passions you are alive. Then you will know how far you are alive to the world, and how far you are dead to it.”

+St Isaac the Syrian (7th Century)

https://www.youthoftheapocalypse.com/

I like being alone

because I know

I am never entirely solitary

still, I am outside

burning

searching for  my old soul

and beauty

in other contemplating eyes

-Solvarg

 His vanity

requires my response

Inexplicable splendor

between two lives

I, God, engaged them 

in lamentations

and fragments of prudence

a prison plein de rêves

Hollow, leaning together

whispering together

Alas!

Remember us!

We have evidence 

of our sweetness

Listen to the angels.

-Solvarg

The Priest wrote

on her feet

after the adoration 

words hard to decipher

she sat in those chairs

where each man

famous in the unreal city

reflected her light

their lips were pressed

holding a secret

concerned, rushed

she does not tell

-Solvarg

What she thought and felt

was it lofty?

Innocence. 

Does she believe in the purity of men?

Does she believe in their high sentiments?

that pale skin

that languid body

She will forgive their abominations

to believe

to know

what love is for.

She will get so accustomed 

to this pretence

quite seriously.

Intoxicated and disturbed

by the fact

that was about to occur.

-Solvarg

Me, I defile myself

while also defiling a woman

It was a fall

but I simply indulged in that

half-pleasure 
half-pain

which it was suggested to me

was natural.

Was it necessary to touch her hand?

I still cannot conclude

Is it instinct, deliberated thinking

innocence

intentional

nonsense charm 

moral disturbance.

-Solvarg

Summer

Summer, early came

I saw a lady, plain, no longer young

and a man.

Unusually glittering eyes

and an old overcoat

neat.

Is it unpleasant for you to sit with me?

Knowing who he was

thinking that it would be painful

to say the truth

he remained silent

living like everyone - dissolutely

living like I ought to live