By chance found again:

the butterfly box, the pins --


in circles of dust.

There is evidence

of what I had and did: signs --


of my existence.

You'll live long enough

to celebrate successes --


and suffer failures.

Flowers wilt, even

if they are out of the sun --


and made of paper.

Only noticed in a small circle
and even so
not quite for who you are
      
and what you are able to, almost unneeded
unfortunately that is common
Time keeps going by
      
and later, life forgets
everyone and everything that was known
and then there is no difference anymore

Celebrity is a lie
pinned on a beacon
It does not matter
      
but sometimes you sit around doing nothing
and you feel that it is a pity
for your children, your friends and society
      
that you're not of more importance
or leave behind more
Time keeps going by
      
and life forgets what has been

The world rotates, nights

after days, and after peace --


the Master arrives.

I live my portion

of eternity, a cry --


gives me the shivers.

The square is so full

of tourists, and so empty --


of life like back then.

Things just float over

my retina to the dark --


of oblivion.

All things break down, and

they perish, fortunately --


slower than I do.