Stefan Stjernberg.com

Old fields rhyme in crops where the city streets hide words with blue nurturing dreams of time in the growing sun.

We are gratefully sleeping to the devoured riddled reflection of might, watching the living conversation flow under old pillars which replace our griefs.

An exhaled vision of an old hour pouring sovereign syllables of random sanity on the pavement to feed the muse with words of water.

With dreams on her cushions deeper drifting in a gentle heart, breathing the enveloped secrets living rays. The whole dozing roses of depths becomes the nothing of memories in immortality.

My eyes is your awakening diamond hymn full of dawn and the servants of my bright noon.

All dead afternoons echoes to the slow prison of my yesterdays sun.

Rumbling the accomplished horrible human doubt in solitude will separate and increase the design of everything allowed.

The change corresponds to an alternation since a diversion increases us farther in here with the image variety of half-nothingness.
I will be obliquely to you, to all that going analogues of reflection.
It’s the us and then there.

Time heaps the sky and counts trees planted in salt when the dense branches tears the flow of covered virtues descending into the fragments of stars in bone and skin.

Chariots of here scales my days of the delicate behind to summon it’s path executed in a serpent possession on the calendar of rooftops.

Imagination in the known bodys certainty often has my whats to the nothing i wanted in most attempts on a necessity at the floating herd.

The sorrows will by a seagull shadow carrying a ghostly coming to the streetlights when the doors of time missing the great look.

We took the positions of our pleasure while it made we smile at you. Of all the open drawers without suddenly turning it to a public square. This was going to bite itself while houses collapse and shining holes appeared in its bed.
We all have staircases that goes on without end while each night blossoming between our shoulders.
With no visible light in here we bundle the inexperience of double burns.

You have no have of myself. Of steps at the rather quite taken where time accounts to no one. I have been replaced back in my steps, out of add to the other.
But i will change my distributed passes of boredom with plants that no longer grief.
I have scheduled this side of me.
I’m reasonable.

To slip into your shadow with my lips behind your moving curtains. Its an escape with its cloak to follow your cover which strangely balances a flame with a breeze.

Perhaps the bare you dawn the coalesce elusive ivy angle where time always swarm my unknown interpretation of presence behind the idleness of a beating bottom.

Things of me appear to collide with doubt and wonder who will fade me on a strange road taken outside of any rhetoric daylight footstep appearing where flesh do unfold the old ground of a closed self.

When i remember the will it starts the picturesque form of not who and disappears inside my paralyzed belongings of the past with beings in the demands of under and when.

I hunt the earth you imprisoned at times when the seasons cultivated the dark evening near with honey.

The loudest doors told the coming which wind will will me still when joy
is carrying the streetlights sorrows.

I hold at yours with that i have resembling the gently hidden public muteness the nights created.

Time hear things before silence light it rich.

My body respect all of me like a stranger.

The black street of wandering among the foolish sky children simply furrows the powers you sustain in a fruit.

A wild stygian knight of garments leaning upon a dark bestial beggar. It is the ghost heros first having of disappointed air.

The obscured void in dreams and of my image hands me the words of
my lost silence by seeing where the desires shape consumes me.

Fragile ways with love descending naively in itself for more to see in a luminous dress far away from the masses
You just fall
Like into the animal sleep without the wandering transparency of that face any crowd wants to see when i simulate myself in them
It is this dark visible space where i have enough of all the gestures,
Of me
I have my sweet seeing on wings of elsewhere in a sad light planted here as i am scaffolding me to a more persistent sun

I’m one filled with distant things
things i hear to be my silence
My remote you, a butterfly
You be me and a voice, a voice
like a word flown in melancholy
It reaches me in the cooling absence of a touch

The dawn harvests the deaf vanishings of the enclosed more in every age with clouded wings of feared cries
I believe the dreaming will age our words in sleeping things
with the sound of the crowd

I will take a sad hour far to build a knew night of constellations
While ignoring other minds singing in me
The joyful unaware of me in the wrong dream
taking the if into the ever present self a knew

I wanted my have of my what because when imagination does words,
a ravishing thread that has it in chains of indifference is speaking
There is an I in pessimism
To say a constant to nothing
A language of flesh to attempt
But i am my well,
the floating necessity of the proven enough

Dimmed red burdons casting spells on the clumsy recesses only greedy hands can see
A me being, fighting
It is the innermost i
With the mind that makes it all at hand
And on the liquid ground of time
Inside our faces we are all ignited organs on the appetites of childhood wonders

Awaken in between the sound of light and the simulated water in the visible temptation of error
I welcome the immensity of rising colour
Of medusas space
that living limits of love
And all the descending fields of life
All the playful lightning nights, paralysed by us
Filled and undefined by birth
like the stars against a phantom joy

The suns warm cries let me change that light lizard light
with the taste of the variety of darkness
I consult these stones provided for by the parallels passes made less close to me
while the sky breaks and reach my way
There is no safe place around for me here
it is my origin

Blind unwilling limits
perhaps unknown to all between the eyes of the paralysed coloured sails
The other is like that of which folding is barely not enough
Like in a wretched contour of a welcome
You be descending there in the elsewhere autumns
in the immensity which lights the grains of night
It is the ripples praise of myself simulating the living space possible in a bouquet of fingers,
and the faceless itself that carry on the mornings and plant the first words on the scattered images of consiousness

Strangely,
it’s like you’re a breeze
The else you surround me with
while the shadows moving along with my footsteps

When visited in my outside climb, that heart of who, mirrors the manners of the letters in a mist and the pieces i hear of invisibility
It is the dawn i window in the wildly distant wheels of silence
It is the loved raindrops dancing in the above behind the returns of its hiding in the blackness of my night sky

We are judging hugeness in one substantial hymn on which we equal the popular chord of our forefathers with the strange circuits of crystal balls
However, the sky water will always bundle us with the blonde smell of our shadows like bright spinning portraits of dark frontiers with forgotten latitudes pushing us up and down until the stars are gone
But who is going to collect the stars?

All currents above the eyelid sun make play to pure arms of roses without the surface tears
I have my red fingers in the masses of things
In the nights of mountains, and beyond
I can see the atmospheric conquerors in motion of unimaginable heroism, and in the places we dream of

The flattered refrains of a warm mist in voiceless tender
My old voyages created with painted towers possessing the translated landscapes rhythms
I have to fly into your brain not to lose the sound of my own
Will you whisper something before you pinch me?

The wind sets with its limbo surrounded by a church of my neglect
By my possible golden innocence
Of dubious flowerless tales, and regulated in the alchemy of painted horrors
It is a crusade of unrecorded senses
a performance of my unknown knees

Under all the anatomical changelings of feathers
and all the cows
You feel the last pull of the great commandments to dress the aha conception in the serious department
Our front is witnessing the poles in the drawing-room of the atlas eye nerve
It is the you with her and this broken doll dancer

Realities that seeds absence have the melancholy eyes of petunias who inhabit their shape from bad water
Like in a uniform elektric hell of tears in a pinned circuit to recover their hearts fallen into locked arms we add places to our mouths in dressed remains and swallows the changed perspectives
This unpredictable sticky ground of skin weaving a web over our own making

That unseen listening to, the reading of the first stones beneath a murmuring endless carrying
The smell from peeling off the layers on curved words
Of things
beneath the hollow geography
Of the undercurrents cluttered sleep without the voices that the bottom mountains glued to the wall
I think i hear it call to me below

Towards the sacrificed i am endearing the abyss and the staircase down that morning with a smoking chameleon taming the body in eternity
A quiet darkness dress my weddings waiting
I am the icy voyager of the inscribed sky dancing on clouds

The sparkling crowds of sirens blessed you in praying posters among lemon dreams
Your eyes wear the mornings hearing furnished by antique rooms of you from ceremonies in mosaic adoration born in daylight sins
There is no one else but us

By night, satin on wings passing on steep pillows in beautiful and divergent hours
Silent patterns watches me following from its dancing future
Only the dreams from far on my walls herd into a knew presence
It is a delicate change to the waves of memory