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teen poem

Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne
die Schwärzung
die Luft ist wie ein Schmetterling
wir waren nicht viele
so verloren
gebildet vom loveliness alleine
zu einigem die fetten Götter
seien Sie nicht falsch
sind Sie wach?
aus dem funkelnden Meer heraus
Melancholie, Blau war sie
jene schwarzen Augen I einmal so gepriesen

 



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