How I long for a place of green.

Trees that give the freshest air.

Rain that washes away everything.

Cleansing the land, and cleansing me.

I am so tired of feeling dead inside

from seeing the dried out death all around me.

It feels like I can feel the land screaming.

Screaming like me for just a drop of water.

A drop of life.

Holy Roman Empire
and its Hakenkreuz.
I hear it in my spirit,
It starts to fall,
Flake even.

In open areas of sylvan and pastoral jazz.

On the iron plating of
Spandau, situated at
The confluence of the Havel and Spree.

Along the rails of "we the children from
Zoo Station."

Inside the books about
Katharina, the burned out postmaster.

And at no daylight, no time frame
—the Final Solution, Auschwitz.

I hear it in my spirit,
It starts to fall,
Tell me how I fear it.
Do we buy hatred for our health?
Is it really worth the taste?

Staying by the sea
under the canopy of the sky
amid rising and falling lilts
of euphonic melody
I partook
of a mass nuptial ceremony
when the waves garlanded
the regal rocks in coy mirth
with the closely strung
white blossoms of fluffy froth!