wie flirrend zarte weben
irren die gedanken
über mein gesicht
schon handverrieben
arg gescholten
am ende
endlich anzukommmen
und wieder vorn zu sein
vergolten
wie alle ranken
stets zum licht
heisst dies zur freude streben
und werte lieben
wo gegenstände
angenommen
und meiner raupe dichterstolz -
so ganz aus holz
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You see, here you'll find poems of opportunity and seasons. They're mine, though, so I have to protect them.
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.
