LyrikZeit ... die Spur von
Inhalt
To write
To
write poetry
that’s like a mystical ride
on the shadow horse.
You
riding in the storm
of your mind.
Your in the plane where
everything has begun .
And
you,
you nobody, just a tree,
woman, a herb, everything.
In this plane of your mind.
You
ride deeper and deeper,
the ride is wilder and wilder.
The Storm is stronger and stronger.
The stars are shining lighter and lighter.
You’re here, you’re alive.
Yesterday I flew to the star
Yesterday
I flew to the stars.
Yesterday I followed the milky way.
To the place where I was born.
I was talking to the stars and
their spoke to me,
in a strong wonderful melody.
I
saw the words of true,
when I flew on the cloud of light,
deeper into the universe of my mind.
But
now was today
and I wake up in the cell
of material life.
I’m dying in the desert
I’m
dying in the desert,
searching for the life.
But
all I found is only sand.
I feel alone in this lie of this world.
Everything
I taste, smell, see, hear, it was.
Everything is death.
I walking through this desert
looking for my kind.
The
Gargoyles of the night,
the Pegasus of the day,
the Unicorns of the forgotten days.
If I see a Unicorn, it has long time ago
lost its horn.
This
desert is death.
The only thing that is alive
is the great shadow snake.
Waiting with her poison.
The drug for those who wish to forget.
But I not.
I
look in the dark sky
but I see only the storm of
the forgotten.
It
looks like
the desert has no door outside.