„what are we without words and their passion?
what are we without the power of amplifying damage
to all of those who are lost to this so-called ’great attraction’?
what are we without the love of life that we never knew?
what are we without vagueness embracing reconciled addictions?
what are we without our unknown pleasures?
what are we without wondering,questioning,dreaming
if we don’t let it all wear us out?
let it all wear us out!”
-setting pen to paper
something i’ve done for a while
after sleeping,before the sun is up
always without a grimace or a smile
it’s about honesty or at least i thought so
but i haven’t composed anything for 2 years
anyway,yesterday i wrote a poem
that’s how we finally arrive here
a handful of questions strike me at once
and i am sure about only one thing:
we can deceive ourselves,but
we clearly know nothing
is my youthfulness wrapped in vanity?
at fifteen or at twenty six -
it doesn’t change a thing with aging
i feel like i’m eighty after a quarter of a century
yes,a poem was written,but i set fire to that piece of paper -
everything was assumed in the decades of waiting,
of waiting for something or of waiting for someone
did you lose track of time with your sense of wonder?
well,the truth is… we all did
„and truth is synonymous with old age and death
but it doesn't hurt anymore”
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