Und wenn ich nicht mehr seh
Ein Sturm hinter mir weht
Neben mich läuft der Wind hinüber
Meinem Sinn entfernt
Weil alles, was Wasser mir bringen konnte
Genügte mir nicht.
So schweifte ich immer nach Feuer
Ab und zu fand ich die Flamme,
Doch zu kurz behielt es mich warm.
Und dann kam ich zur Frage,
Wofür das Laufen?
Ich ein Dichter? Mag auch sein!
Drum kümmere ich mich nicht.
Dein Ziel bin ich wie immer,
Und wenn ich nicht mehr seh
Dass die Augen dem Leben nachlaufen
Dann höre ich dein Lied
Dann spür ich ne Hand wie deine
Dann rauscht meine Stimme
Und bringt ein Ende wie meines
Dann wird mein Ohr so scharf
Dass ich alles fühle
Hautnah, meinem Sinn entfernt
Weil alles, was Feuer für mich war,
Genügte dir nicht,
So trägst du die Schuld
Und ich die weisse Fahne.
Samstag, Mai 4
Voyage Instead of Journey
The bridge I saw was then no more to see
Aspiring to reach the most declined of heights
Under the angle of childish metaphors abounding
But I watched the flames bellowing below
And I reckoned the bridge would now be flooded down
My hands reached what my eyes would never
Under the angle of a terror rising under me
Aspiring to race and raise beyond usual delights
The bridge of stone inside the halls resounding
My hands obeyed resting against the flow
And I recalled, upon my head rested a crown
But I watched my army marching after whomever
The bridge I saw was then no more to see
Aspiring to reach the most proclaimed of rights
Under the angle of deaf sonnets still redounding.
Aspiring to reach the most declined of heights
Under the angle of childish metaphors abounding
But I watched the flames bellowing below
And I reckoned the bridge would now be flooded down
My hands reached what my eyes would never
Under the angle of a terror rising under me
Aspiring to race and raise beyond usual delights
The bridge of stone inside the halls resounding
My hands obeyed resting against the flow
And I recalled, upon my head rested a crown
But I watched my army marching after whomever
The bridge I saw was then no more to see
Aspiring to reach the most proclaimed of rights
Under the angle of deaf sonnets still redounding.
Belonging to
poems
Solely with a Purpose or Fancy about Black
And then I asked the interference
What perils a day could bring the year
Yet then two was too much
I lost my weary coherence
I embraced the curtains of the stage of fear
And they refused to watch
What I fancied was my best appearance
Seemed too small to touch me near
I wondered about great joys and such
Puzzled I struggled to gain adherence
Onto a veiled cliff of three smiles upon a tear
Still the flying man I assumed was Dutch
I asked the interference, but no response I gained
Still the question dwelled, I ask myself ere now:
Who is merely poor, the raven, be it dove?
What perils a day could bring the year
Yet then two was too much
I lost my weary coherence
I embraced the curtains of the stage of fear
And they refused to watch
What I fancied was my best appearance
Seemed too small to touch me near
I wondered about great joys and such
Puzzled I struggled to gain adherence
Onto a veiled cliff of three smiles upon a tear
Still the flying man I assumed was Dutch
I asked the interference, but no response I gained
Still the question dwelled, I ask myself ere now:
Who is merely poor, the raven, be it dove?
Belonging to
poems
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