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writing poetry

ich sah ihn einmal vorher
noch dreizehn Jahre
die Bögen der roten Brücke
blau-schwarze nubian zupfende Orangen
ich starrte den prachtvollen Himmel an
einfach sprechend
erinnern sich Sie
wie Adler auf hoher Höhe
ich sah die Wolken unter den HĂĽgeln
da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe
und während wir gingen, wurde das Gras schwach gerührt
ich bin fevered

 



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