The Lord of the Files

Files after files
Stacked in piles
Kissed by myriads of flies
And caressed by layers of dust.
Lie the memories of the shredded past.

Touch them not.
Let them be
Let the gash of guilt be clogged.
The phantom dagger had touched the golden blood once.
Let it not every dream, every night.

Draw not meanings from that little kerchief
That doomed the love of the moor
Stack them
Pack them
Throw them away
The dusty death is not for you.

So Be It

If this be the place,
So be it.
Silhouetted against the deep
On the high cliff I stand,
Waiting...
The hollow frothy gushes
Break beneath. But I
Stand, still.

Not a soul stirs.
Not a star shines.
Not a leaf murmurs in sleep.
Silence echoes
And darkness blinds
If this be the place
So be it.

Life here is dead since long;
Save me.
Wait, I must
Till I fall back into a long sleep;
Till I break like the waves around me;
Until I find my self in me;
I shall wait
Till Eternity.
If this be the place
So be it.