poems

© 2026 Marius Brem. Licensed under Creative Commons CC BY-SA 4.0.

(all of ‘em)

In the tender darkness,

Sparkless embers are not heartless,

They are but taskless,

Rendered maskless by endless vastness

Their laughless surrender remembered regardless.

2015

Sleepless, exhausted, the sun rises on another day far away. It hung over there and now will slouch past in search of unattainable rest. We circle it, while it circles some circulating thing, confused and lost or maybe just tired and bored. Tired of seeing the world turn, dizzy and seasick, floating on until some unreachable, and yet inevitable resolution, and then silence — stretching and condensing time into an eternity where the smallest and largest distance are equally invite, all relationships and polarities melt, tensions dissolve into some incomprehensible realm of expired potential. The paradox which enables existence solved, a quiet sigh of relief escapes the cluster of exhausted energy, and then thunders into a cacophony of ecstatic noice, silently tearing stillness into countless fractions and flinging them into disarray, each at the center of a whirlwind of furious confusion and grace. Overlapping and conflicting, every collision sends out endless tremors that expand the space in the shadow of emptiness. The burning darkness gives birth to invisible light, which flows out through the tumult to fall into the black holes of fractured stillness at the heart of every unfurling spiral of creation, each the eye of its own storm, seeing chaos and finding order, watching the euphoria in deepest melancholy, letting cold tears seep into the fires untill the rage calms and the embers solidify, revolving slowly in the remaining dimness, floating on until some inevitable, and yet unreachable resolution, and then silence.

2017

And the moss grows

and the balanced stones

sometimes tumble

and the water flows

and splashes and drips

and trickles and slips

down stream and erodes

And far away the cities groan

trains rumble through dark tunnels

fluorescent lights are ever bright

casting shadows between

overlapping human lives

that mingle and collide

confused and confined

driven by minds

all their own

and as the weight of our world

bends space

it holds

and the moss grows

and the balanced stones

sometimes tumble

and the water flows

through the gorge

it carves for itself

and the waterfalls roar

like tires on streets

and the moss grows

damp, quiet, softly breathing

a home for the creeping

crawling secret goings on of the tiny living

and far away the cities

groan, the monstrous

machinery drones on

and the water flows

under pressure

controlled

though in places broken

pipes drip

and trickle and the water slips

down unplanned streams

It all erodes

and as the fungus decomposes

the tombs of forests live

and the clocks tick

mechanical motions

repeat, and repeat

and wear down, till they falter

and might be repaired

and the balanced stones

sometimes tumble

and our knowledge grows

and fades,

waxes, and wanes.

and as the weight of our world

bends space,

It holds

2022