The past

To prepare as around me for the next day
if I wander from the creased lonesome skin
writes...
Rouse in me or allow to be quiet.
See with half awake eye how hours trickle away.
How often I lack strength
- Will particularly! -
For whom do I act?
If there is hope,
the fact that the life remains worth living?
The fact that there remain US?
 

We knew old life,
stand being worried and hoping before the new.
What we can do,
to become better?
 

Or does the longing hang like lead on me?
As if did she "need" no one else more?
Longing is like
Days without light
Waiting on Brightly at polar night.
How much a person can hide,
how much remains unfulfilled...
Where is insanity, where sense...
Longing is like
drink, without thirst extinguish,
Darkness during the day.
(Bluntness?)
 

I was never able to believe,
the fact that he was so.
Lines said him more than I could say.
How much he wanted to read
and my lines were like a dissolution of me, were like a time without any luck.

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