To Tuomas...

Bless your words, for they wound my soul
They cut through my being like a blade that rapes my blood
They waken my heart from its numbness
Revive my insides, thirsty for feeling

Your verses weave thoughts within my dreamless mind
Shatter the walls of my inner flood
They are a drug that circulates in the veins of my stiffened hand
They creep into me and the poet inside is resurrected

My Christendom is built upon your church and bible
That teach of pain, of sorrow and of dear sweet life.
You are no god, and far from being divine,
And it comes a consolation

You are no man-created being,
You are your own created self,
A self anointed Christ!

I shall not worship you, nor your words
But I shall feel them, remember them
And build my poem upon them,
A foundation of my rhyme

You, among the thousand prophets,
Are the only I might call a friend,
And if only I was your friend!

I shall dwell within each line your hand weaves,
In desperation awaiting every magic…
I sign my letter with my only name,
Nemo, the once and forever.