There is a place for sinners like us
Maybe it lies in our minds or our hearts
Or under the earth guarded by Cerberus
Where our spirits are eternally torn apart
In the mythos of the Ancients Greeks
The center of all suffering is named Tartarus
It is where souls starve or boulders pushed to a peek
Only to roll back down, such is the plight of Sisyphus
When the sun is ash and dust
When all the old gods die
Sisyphus will still blindly roll the rock to the azimuth
After Mnemosyne forgets the reason why
You think support, but I feel a push
And I feel the push, I feel the push everyday
You think it will bring me higher, reach the top
But all you do when you push me is push me away.
In the Book of Nostalgia, memories were scattered
Small images, smaller than this hand of mine
Images that mummified the days of our lives
Where and when no sadness could stop its time
Hello followed by good-bye are the cruelest words
How funny it is that my pillars of the era young
Are no longer present to hold me up
Hold me up because I cannot alone before the everfading sun
Hello without official good-byes to prepare the heart
As you all disappear to let me know I will never see you again
I can never see you again, in dreams you are but holograms
And no farewell warning to let me know I will be rend apart
I can never see you again, there was no emotional good-bye
No holding on until your finger went cold and blue
Jesus Christ and his silent Father never told me why
In those nights of nostalgia, I cried while remembering you.
An Instant in Your HandsAn Instant in Your Hands
Slowly dancing in the winter's air
Like white ink spots in the sterile sky
To paint beautiful silence in my despair
They descend before the window and before my eyes
Tomorrow is another day for those who choose to die
But for those who live, it is all the same
The desert is still sand, the desert is still dry
And so is my throat as I swallow your name
Clone me like He clones you a thousand times
So that I may melt in an instant in your hands.
-DVH, late Jan. 1999
The sky sprayed whipped cream all over the world
To cover the earthy dirtiness of fall
Snowflakes descend in intricate twirls
And children fight with marshmallow-like snowballs
The air is crisp and cold like angular ice
Mouths like chimneys, breathe out smoke
Dancers on skates slide and slice
And beggars in the snow are still broke
Does Christmas celebrate Jesus or Santa?
Hurrying shoppers gather where gifts are sold
And families reunited in the beautiful basilica
But a wandering poet still feels solitude's cold.
-DVH, 10 Jan. 2001
The ExamThe Exam
We all sat on small wooden chairs and all had a little desk,
On which lied a sheet of recycled paper and a sharpened pencil.
Some chatted their nervosity; others were stressed silent.
An announcement rushed out like a tide of water: the rules of the test ...
The surveilleur's voice came from above in an echo;
Amplified, neutral yet threatening, as it spoke of punishment
We all began to write the exam, whether injured or healthy;
Whether we were unprepared or ready and tired from last night's
Studying; whether our grandparents just died or our rich daddy just bought us
A gift. No matter what, we all had to be there and for dear life try.
The same questions were asked to everyone, although they presented different plights.
And although the surveilleur could respond to our demands, he might not rescue us.
After, no one knows what happens, whether we pass or fail ...
If we worked hard instead of partying, there might not be a difference.
Some claim that one would move on to other
Holding You in SilenceHolding You in Silence
I can see the light holding her in silence
And I know that I have served my sentence
I can see the water sliding down her soft skin
God only knows how long I have been waiting
I can hear her calling me with her ethereal voice
Although I am right there with her
Closer to her than her best friend, her mother, her sister, ...
And we move as if we were left without a choice.
-DVH, 26 January 1998