sie sammelt glücke
in ihrer sonne tage
wärmt sie sie auf
nur stücke
nimmt sie in kauf
mehr passt nicht drauf
auf die platte
stück für stück
was sie hatte
sammelt sie glücke
für sich ganz allein
ganz zart und fein
und ohne jede tücke
mischt sie sich hinein:
im plural mein
(C) 2019
Calendar
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January '19 |
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|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Su | Mo | Tu | We | Th | Fr | Sa |
| Friday, 9. June 2023 | ||||||
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | ||
| 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 |
| 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 |
| 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 |
| 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | ||
Archives
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.
