Sah schon Utopias Ruinen,
Visionen mein täglich Brot,
Suchte das Wahre im Dienen,
Und lebte in allerwelts Not,
Zeigte ein ehrlich Gesicht
Und wußte, ich traue mir nicht.
Kannte den Weg nur auf Schienen,
So endlos verlief er ins Rot,
Küßte die Glut in Rubinen,
Und stellte mich jedem Verbot.
Sehe im Traum noch das Licht,
Doch weiterhin trau ich mir nicht.
2004 © (Variation)
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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.
