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black poetry

mit Freude und Wunder
meine Seele ist ein dunkles gepflogenes Feld
ich brenne keinen Duft
sie fragen mich, wo ich gewesen bin
ich bete nicht für Frieden
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
die Berge sind sie leise Völker
kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken
die hypocritic Tage

 



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