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suicide poem

wenn es
ich liebe mein Leben, aber nicht zu gut
ein dĂĽnner grauer Schatten auf dem Rand des Gedankens
Schlaf süß in Ihren humble Gräbern
ich kann nicht Ihnen jetzt erklären
welches hält
das Emporheben, als der Wind brannte durch
ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
die Luft ist wie ein Schmetterling
unter dem Helm des Warriors
GlĂĽck
bewiesen im Schimmer in Ihren Augen

 



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