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poetry poem

es gibt ein Land voll des Weins
ich schleuderte meine Seele zur Luft wie einem Falkefliegen
hören Sie zum klingenden Meer
er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen
tun Sie die Jungen und Mädchen gehen noch
in Ihrem Flug
ich bilde meinen Abschirmrahmen, aber niemand weiĂź
die langen resounding Marmorflure
entlang den Bänken
im Bereich
die Qual des Habens zu vieler Energie

 



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