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funeral poem

im September
wie wie die Sterne dieses WeiĂź ist, namenlose Gesichter
ich brenne keinen Duft
den brennenden Gedanken kleiden
alle innen und alle ohne mich
ängstlich nicht mehr, sage ich
ich stehe im kalten grauen Wetter
wer der Läufer in den Himmeln ist
wie ich sollen Sie, helfen Sie rechts der Welt, die falsch geht
schwach-weak-winged Song
Sie sind frei
Tage endeared zu jedem MUSE
vor drei Jahren heute
ich bot sie aller Abschied

 



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