every time i close my eyes, i stop existing
my existence consists of pregnant word shells
the eight sisters of forgetfulness remind me
the eight brothers of memories are forgetting me

in unity, they are driving the engine of myself
they are rooted somewhere in the unconscious
my will is made of soft wool and heavy iron
the contours of my existence form it daily

impregnated words are yelling at the real me
the silence of the morning created a wish
the longing to drift through reality like a river
but then i look into the eyes of my children

in them i recognize the value of human existence
they are beings who can laugh with their eyes  
my daughter's babbling is full of curiosness
in my son's curiosity i discover his quest

i open my eyes and i start to exist; i am