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death poem

das Emporheben, als der Wind brannte durch
ich schleuderte meine Seele zur Luft wie einem Falkefliegen
sind sie traurig, die nicht Liebe kennen
innerhalb meiner Hand halte ich
diese Herzen wurden von den menschlichen Freuden und Obacht gesponnen
aus mir heraus unwürdig und unbekannt
vor drei Jahren heute
traurig sprechend
alle werfen die Jahre nieder

 



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