"geschichte" poems
Du wirst diese Geschichte nicht lesen glaub ich aber du kannst das übersetzen. Ich habe dich so sehr geliebt.
Ich vermisse dich so sehr jetzt.
Ich weiß dass ich nicht ein guter Mann bin.
Komm zurück zu mir.
Ich denke das wird eine schwere Zeit ohne dich zu sein.
Mein Teufel ist da. Du hast den schon gesehen und hoffentlich kannst du mir in eine gute Licht anzusehen.
Hoffentlich. Wirst du mich nicht hassen.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 2:38 PM UTC
Ich wünschte, die Leute nur wissen konnte, warum ich darüber schreiben, was ich tue.
Ich wünschte, die Leute könnten verstehen, wer ich bin, und was ich erlitten haben .
Ich scheint, wie wenn ich zum Vergnügen zu schreiben , ist es immer noch so sinnlos empfindet .
Sie meine Geschichte hören , so wird es nicht wieder passieren
von ,
Bluten- Diamanten
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
too soon the khaki before the noir
and too soon dei buch dieb - alter buch, dei leben!
marschieren marschieren vergleichen ****** zu
Napoleon - un das ende! geschichte wiederholen;
some might say a nation is a history
but some might say that both are equal.
so few are made to testify a market allowance
with due compliance of a tact -
and such the lack a covert necessity of applause,
hats off to the warring tribes under guise
of Hiroshima and the lost wars of perfumed
Magdalenes of pearl harbour -
but in terms of war tactic at least the Japanese
attacked the warring populace,
the Japanese soldiers attacked American soldiers,
yet the noble hirohito said:
ignoble soldiers of the west attacked cobblers
and blacksmiths! american soldiers attacked
the populace of non-soldiery!
whom to fake their prowess and safeguard of heroism?
if warring was to be faked it was faked at pearl
harbour - when warring encompassed civil victims
and out double measure on lives lost at pearl
harbour to react with hydrogen bombs!
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 10:22 PM UTC
If I describe to you this dream of mine,
could I distill sorrow into drops of sweetness?
Let me write you one last story:
High summer, our heroes are apart but speeding
together at 250 km/h
(the average speed of the ICE 599 Berlin - Stuttgart)
Image the sweetest, deepest blue sky day of your life,
how the warm bath of the air flows over your skin,
and that is this day.
Her face is pressed against the train window.
She wears a new blue dress that matches heaven,
her hair is a halo of golden sunshine
and everywhere she smells a
field of honeysuckles.
She’s holding a scrap of paper
on which the names of several
German towns are written in pen
(the stops where she will stand
waiting on a platform looking west
towards you)
She is folding and refolding it in her lap.
And you, buying cheap train station coffee
at a kiosk because you don’t want her to know
that you barely slept last night.
Willing the golden face of the clock in the lobby
to speed faster towards noon.
You wait on the platform, hands in your pockets,
contemplating another cigarette (your fifth or sixth)
Wie Vorfruede!
An older man breaks custom and lightly asks
if you have a Liebste arriving on this train.
You smile that closed-mouth smile of yours
and he nods then falls
quiet to his own reveries.
She drums her fingers on her knees,
unfolding the paper one last time,
and asks the women beside her,
wo sind wir?
The city comes into view, greengold trees,
People walking along the river,
old stone arches of the train station.
Everything becomes very quiet; she steps
down and looks left then right.
The train heaves a heavy sigh and rolls on,
the breeze of its wake rushing first through her hair
and then through yours.
Every desperate song and poem and
cry in the night are filtered back to sweet water.
The winter has never been and will never come back,
the birds sing of you.
If everything that is dreamed or told of and never chosen
exists in parallel shades set side by side,
than in some world you and I are walking towards one
another through the dappled summer light
forever.
The End.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC