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Robin Görtz May 2021
A pair of eyes collides
With one identical pair,
The first pair owner lowers
His head to bow as heir.
The second rises slowly,
Triumphant lifts his voice,
Commands, commands this brainless
Descendant of his choice.

But number One refuses
He negatively shrinks
And in the eyes of daddy
He stares and never blinks
A “NO” still echoes somewhere
The word becomes a sword
It riddles Second´s ticker
And One is without lord.

Pale but smiling number Two
Congratulates his son.
Reassuring number One
His loss means that he won.
Then Two drops dead
At least in part
And moves no inch of bone

One, alone, falls into pit.
Pit uncertainty.
One can´t think straight,
Brain so full that empty.
Two wore coat,
Two´s coat heavy.
One still wears it,
Legs are wobbly.

Take first own step
Robin Görtz Mar 2021
The last strike connects and Geralt´ s free at last.
A sword in his hand and an armoured chest
He has slain the final boss.
He has finished the final quest.

With the help of your hand and your knowledge and skill
He was able to fight himself free.
And now that the prewritten story is done
He can pursue his own will and is free.

And now You sit in your chair, wishing not only now
To be Geralt, the man with the power
To beat all the shadows of past and in present,
But You live under your father

Who has written already the actions you take,
Who has written the words you will utter.
For he is the one with experience.
And he is the one who knows better.

Yet You were the one leading the witcher´ shand.
You are the one with the power.
Pick up your weapon and armour of mind
And kick him from his tower.

It is long overdue that you realise.
Your father is the final boss.
Robin Görtz Feb 2021
In peaceful times or times of ebb
You take a fair delight
In sun-warmed sand to be your ground
And sunscreen´s safely white.

But comes the flood the slowly rising
Ocean eats the sand
And soon the waves start eating you, first
Foot, then heart, then hand.

Until you drown within yourself
And shed a salty tear,
You scream into the depths of you
With no one there to hear.

Now chaos has a grip on you,
The kraken from beneath
Or giant shark or monstrous whale
Leaves little air to breathe.

And all you can is crying tears,
You didn´t learn to swim
Or built a dam protecting you
From you and all your grim.
Robin Görtz Feb 2021
Imagine a fortress of bright shining marble
With windows like eyes and a big open drawbridge
An entrance to street-life, the market and games.

Imagine a person engaging in struggle
A challenging life that is answered with courage
A wanderer pushing towards his aims

Imagine a mirror portraying a sparkle
Of fortress and wanderer linked in an image
Now add to the mirror a crack in the glass.
Robin Görtz Feb 2021
The god has fallen at last; his angel has succeeded. The demons
that were kept
at bay come crawling from the shadows. The victor can see the mess and is paralyzed
by fear. The hellish brute is overwhelming.

The devil shakes away the shock until he can move again.
The devil takes some steps back.
The devil picks up a sword to fight.
The devil takes position.

The devil starts to slice the foes.
The devil starts repulsing them.
The devil starts to build a wall.
The devil starts to show the way.

The devil keeps them now at bay.
The devil keeps them far away.
The devil keeps them now as prey.
The god is watching him.
Robin Görtz Feb 2021
Dug deep the shaft, the hush, a grave, a weight
On shoulders strong. A shovel shoves away
The ground where shoes have stood so long. A man
And woman, shut in shadows, black, negate.

Chip and chip the shovel goes to heart
And soul. And shallow shapes of human trunks
Collect around the hole. Together-lone
They watch and see a child and parents part.

But through them all there runs a silver rope,
Connecting heart to heart, creating wholes
Not holes in empty human souls. One tear
Of thanks among the stream of grief gives hope.

And every hand that touches him or her
And every desperate smile lifts the silent weight.
Robin Görtz Feb 2021
The gentle Man

The gentle Man though one of lust
Is whistling only then,
When bonded in a veil of trust;
Not saved by many men
He holds the door for anyone,
He greets you as a fan.
He leaves a tip, he gets things done;
For he´s a gentleman.

A solid ground he offers those,
That tumbled, fought and fell,
When crashing waves of life went lose
And drowned all hopes of dwell.
He is the wall of steady stone,
His body fortified.
No hatred ever moves his bone.
His father lives and died.

His fist, well feared, the burning flame
A nourished by a demon force
Has never struck, but in a game
No human and no horse
Right in his pocket rests all hell
Five-fingered, clutched and nailed,
Yet he is calm 'cause let me tell
At him the devil failed.

His love is pure, is deep, is true.
The last a weapon still,
That pierces hearts like him and you
That crushes people´s will.
His tongue a blade he slowly cuts
Away the cancer lie
By breathing words with courage-guts
That hurt, that ****, revive.

— The End —