Samstag, 8. Dezember 2012


A little of my resistance
against life
I would like to leave behind.
Sunny times
is what I wish for.
Am I
where I wanted to be?
As if you’d get admiration for it!

The martyr thinks about home,
always about herself first,
and sacrifices herself
by not moving at all,
not an inch,
domineering people
with her rigor.
Rigor mortis.
At the same time
friends she does not have
admire the blue of the light, falling in,
not me.
I wished we were born
as brother
and sister in the middle of nowhere.
All beginning is always she,
life wants to be my prey.
Had my luck worked,
there was a plan,
thought up by night
-          and wasnt it her insulting life?-
I would be well on the way,
for sure well on the way.
What remains is depth,
- friends, that I have,
admire the blue of the light falling in-,
wanted, wished, würdevoll me
to dive in. In my head it is thinking,
the apples fall far far away from the tree,
behind it they fall on the deep ground
and nobody picks them up.
There were times, when the sun
was still shining, the wind was still blowing
the dreams were much much smaller
and they did not come true.

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