Without a pole star and wherries to take us home.
The retrospection speaks ever so high-powered;
'Fall into relapse oh my son,
we all relapse,
learn from its beat,
make life your own,
leave me out of it,
us you will leave alone.'

Quiet I am,
since sky first rose over me,
and a murder of you, and the near-dead experiences,
without music and life I fell,

from this beast I banish into brine,
wandering without bounds and a relationship,
I hung atop of the pine,
still under the giants and wind;
swirling, through grass, straws and mellow homes,

the one and only, black-sheep of this horde,
abandon the field,
for the orange hills in me are dead,
and between peaks and sea,
await no longer, the watcher is gone,
the distance wounded and forever lost,

the entire, a mountain range,
ah the shepherd now roosts upon,

dead I am,
I rove no more,
I have the remoteness to conk out,
and to dredge the last of me,

a pounce, an edging of this stream,
stop this oh dear,
despondent you shall be,
let the heartland cease its beat,
these pounding drums,
the mechanism attached,
they are too loud for living,

stop him, girl,
the clamorous lifeline of us,
shall be muting and at rest,
now, come on, girl,
do not be frightened,
let us depart with cheerfulness,
without lodestars and lightnings.  
Viktor Kaldalóns
1987 - ...

Ljóð eftir Viktor Kaldalóns

Sær í átt að sæng.
Ástarljóð til hins visna.
Minn kæri vin... það mun versna.
Málverk stöðnunar.
St. Coll.
Windows blow in like ten thousand ice floes upon the snowy quarters.
The brighter side of the day goes down in three, two, one...
The first lightpost on St. Coll.
My date of birth kept in memory of a bartender (pt. one).
My date of birth kept in memory of a bartender (pt. two).
It feels like dying, you know...
Our graves undulate with fever.
Fáninn lágreisti.
The regent roads to nowhere; the end of the world.
Just like the corner of all nights.
Just like the corner of the day...
Anddyrið kringum sviðið.
Væg túlkun.
The dead queen and us.
Endir á litblæ, hulinn bær.
Líflaus blómstrun.
Skýrar, en þó svo daufar.
Dálæti; og ástin bíður ósigur.
Brotin umgjörð.
Svartur er sjórinn.
Horfin fjarvera.
Og allt varð grátt.
Ljóðið fannst aldrei.
The lively queen and us.
Tilvonandi Eilífðartími.
Dökk spor.
Í eyði.
The prime of the queen.
Sýningin tælandi á sviði slökknandi borgarljósa.
Upstream they went towards the valley.
Contiguous grapevine, old and all around.
Carry a no-win mist inside God´s acre.
With only a wire and death attached.
Drizzling in tween the rest.
Without a pole star and wherries to take us home.
I will leave you dumfounded just like before.
Heilög borg?
Well lit allure of anesthesia.
My naked naiad.
Pharisaic lifetime of a saint.
Einfari; loftmengun.
Þú og ég.
Örvilnun skýjaglópana.
Sjónarhorn skuggsælla engla í sorgarklæðum.
Lof efstu svalanna.
Það er að stytta upp.
Vöggugjöf launmorðingjans.
Fjárhagsörðugleikar nútímablíðu.
Von er...
Vonleysi er...