Montag, 16. Mai 2016

from becoming and ends

Breath
the dead
by lightning
pierced
as snow
and ice
on the
grave field
no one
more to
plow up
dares

The sun
has its
singing
in fear
and dread
as the mark of Cain
an instant
glowing
star
forehead
set

The wind
the time of
wipes our
traces
no one
respected

We are looking for
not lucky
no forgiveness

We keep us
the fixed mast
from becoming
and ends

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