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sad poetry

tun Sie die Jungen und Mädchen gehen noch
fällt hier kein Licht
noch dreizehn Jahre
dunkel-eyed
bleiben Sie nicht mehr
Schlaf süß in Ihren humble Gräbern
die Dämmerung war apfelgrün
dieses ist das Arsenal
die einzelne zusammengeprgessene angehobene Faust und bereiten vor
rühren Sie sich
geben Sie mir Hunger
süsses splendor
für diese weißen Arme über meinen Ansatz

 



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