Climb up the ladder

and look next to you, a snake --


is waiting for you!

One never knows when.

Well, a next time is nothing --


more than that: next time.

On the windowsill,

a bird, does it sing to me?


Is it bringing news?

You more or less know

what kind of day it will be --


Now you colour it.

If a door is not a door
but an artistic optical illusion
then I can still appreciate that
but an inheritance of debts
or a romantic wedding night
in 'Paris l'amour' going wrong

are certainly not dreams
I wish to come true
I rather keep up the fairy tales

So I point to a positive side
or I play that it goes well
and nothing is at stake
But is a tree alive when it rustles?

What is truth? Can illusions just be
recognized by the appearance
to be as real as real?

Or even more real, if happiness
is re-enacted in a play, because
loyalty and doubt seem to be
much more authentic on stage
and to render more sense there
than is possible in my own life

After the fireworks

I don't see any ghosts left --


only ***** snow.

Living to the full,

always searching for balance --


and finding myself.