Ein kleines Träum, das hüpfte mir
Aufs Herz, und ich ward ehrlich.
Drum, dacht' ich, ist dies' Flü-Getier
Vielleicht nicht ungefährlich.
Es lachte mir mein Leben blau,
Auch bracht' es mich zum Sinnen.
Da kannt' es mich schon haargenau
Von außen und von innen.
Doch als es seine Hand ausstreckte,
Und schweigend nach mir griff,
Da war's, als ob's mich ganz bedeckte
Und auch mein Weltenschiff.
2004 ©
To Drema
Calendar
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August '04 |
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Archives
You see, here you'll find poems and prose of opportunity and seasons. They're ours, though, so we have to protect them. Respect! Thank you!
Readers are welcome! If you are willing to follow the iconian path, you should know that it is always you we are talking to, even if it is not. And that everything is true, even if it is not. We all are eternally united in the last space possible where even the impossible is real. We ought to believe the foretold: If we'll meet tomorrow, next year, or never, it doesn't matter, it's only time! And everything, even time is fiction.
By the way, typos and other mistakes - we know there are many. If you can be bothered, please let us know. Thank you! And for any legal issues, please contact us before we have to tell you that we're skinned. But you can also write, of course, if you like what you read. Please, write to the webmaster.
