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dark poetry

mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
stern kalter Mann
letzter Mitternacht
fĂĽr war mich ein gaunt, ernstes Ratsmitglied
wenn, voll von der warmen und eifrigen Liebe
Roses und Gold
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
mittlere Vergnügen und Paläste, obwohl wir durchstreifen können
zweifellos erinnere mich ich noch
Nobility des Todes wieder

 



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