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suicide poem

ich stand
meine Mutter unterrichtete mich daß jede Nacht
Nacht war schwarz und drear
Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne
und breakethbrot nicht mehr
unter den Bergen wandered ich
ruhig mit reverance, im Awe
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
als Meer-Winde unsere Solitudes durchbohrten
wie ich sollen Sie, helfen Sie rechts der Welt, die falsch geht

 



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