Svet je na Oheň

The world's on fire

and there's naught I can do;

I'm stuck in my head

and I can't move through.

My thoughts are a nightmare,

they're violent and loud;

they tell me I'm finished

like a vaporous cloud.

I look to the sky

and I scream and I shout;

I beg for some mercy

from this devilish clout.

 But the world is on fire

and there's naught I can do;

I'm stuck in my head

and I cannot come to.

To je Vlaštovka Lásky

This is the Swallow of Love.

She carries on her wings

a faint perfume

of romance
 dusted
on withered petals.

The Swallow soars

with pride and pluck

until an arrow,

sharpened with the pangs of guilty absence,

pierces through the Swallow's feathered armor

and begins a hole

that grows and festers

with the hollow melancholy of broken hearts.