„O, Silent Wood“

Gedicht-, Wein-, Musik-, Buch-, Kunst-, Katzenliebhaberin

[winterimsommer]

I don’t want to be human anymore.

I want to lie down,

three meters under the ground,

deep, deep,

covered by earth.

Water flows through my bones,

roots in my nodes,

green between my flesh.

Flowers grow through my eyes.

I give myself to nature.

I can be eaten,

become part of

the eternal cycle

and sleep.

[winterimsommer]

I want to live in a Jane Austen novel, but with tattoos.

[winterimsommer]

If I could I would run into my mothers arms.

[winterimsommer]

I’m torn between feeling like a branch that’s spent years thirsting in the desert and feeling worn away, almost rotten, by time and rain.

[winterimsommer]

Doing the dishes, fulfilling responsibilities, walking around, laughing, drinking, listening to music, and talking to people with a heavy heart that has grown used to the pain. It feels like pretending; it doesn’t feel real, yet it is reality.

[winterimsommer]

“Botany knows how to die beautifully without ever truly dying. Botany still knows a little more about death.” - Georgi Gospodinov

[winterimsommer]

As a child, I had nothing; that is why today I can live with less—even though I could have everything.

[vexheart]

Life finds a way, even in the cracks of concrete.

[winterimsommer]

I look down from the mountain

At blurred faces

Distorted by anger, greed, and envy

Through the clouds

I see their gray, thin hearts

Abandoned for an unprovable ideology

The wind carries their thoughts

Up to me

Malicious gusts make me shudder

The eagle’s cry

Tells me of their eyes

Beauty fades in filthy caves

The moon sees no humans

It sees deformed, ruined souls

Clothed in superiority and justification

The sun hides itself

Frightened and ashamed

Everywhere ugliness beneath beautiful bodies

We look down from the mountain

No one gets what they deserve

Or do they?

[winterimsommer]

Some kill their love when they are young,

And some when they are old;

Some strangle with the hands of lust,

Some with the hands of gold.

Oscar Wilde - The Ballad of Reading Goal

[winterimsommer]

There’s beauty –

in the rotten, in destruction, distraction, and exposed rawness.

I wanna see you crying, screaming – wanna see you falling apart.

Your dandruff in the air of your nasty room,

the stains of your existence,

your emotional turmoil.

I’d like to hold your cold hands.

Wanna hold your veiny, lean body.

My eyes want to meander through your flesh, through your skull,

until I can read your mind.

Your boldness, your lack of humour, your hopelessness,

your tiredness, your cleverness, your inability,

your reservedness, and your charisma.

Let me hit a hole in your heart.

Let me fix it.

I want to join your unprofitable existence,

your waste of time, and your outrageous occupation of space.

[winterimsommer]

The Watcher

Since I can remember,

I have walked hand in hand,

side by side,

with The Death.

He watches me

like an invisible cloud.

I have looked him in the eyes for many years;

it’s as if he’s working through me.

I have held so many doomed hands;

his aura has crawled so deep into my bones

that he has become part of my DNA.

My eyes are his eyes now.

A sunny day is never truly sunny to me.

Laughter no longer brings relief.

I can’t enjoy the company of a true friend,

because all I can think about is

how he is watching over us.

[winterimsommer]

…this is for all those

who feel at home in the darkness

and like strangers in the light: I love you.

[winterimsommer]

And I know,

though the wounds run deep,

though my strength shatters and my teeth break,

though I stumble and fail again and again —

in the shelter of God’s embrace,

my heart will find peace.

[winterimsommer]

Nature Falls Silent

The river is angry with us,

so it has stopped flowing.

The tree cries out in pain,

so its leaves have turned gray.

The insects have lost their home,

so they no longer hum.

The flowers refuse to bloom—

they do not want to be seen by us.

The birds go hungry because we are greedy,

so we no longer hear their song.

The earth burns with fever,

because our hearts are cold,

so she turns away from us.

The forest shrinks because we steal from it,

so it sets our houses ablaze.

The wind remains silent—

it does not want to speak to us.

Nature is about to fall silent,

because we never listen anyway.

[winterimsommer]

Between the pines,

above the decayed substratum of our time,

I saw raw brutality,

cloaked in barren beauty.

#poeticsnippets

[winterimsommer]

From one woman to another:

„Call me when you’re home.“

„Can you pick me up? I’m scared to walk home alone.“

„You shouldn’t meet him alone.“

„Can I stay over? I don’t want to go home this late.“

„Can you stay on the phone with me while I walk at night?“

„Isn’t his behavior disturbing?“

„He just won’t leave me alone.“

„Can we pretend you’re my girlfriend?“

„I told him NO, but he didn’t listen.“

„He’s dancing way too close to us.“

„I don’t like the way he looks at me.“

„He stared at your skirt and legs for minutes…“

„I feel uncomfortable. We should leave.“

„…“

A woman is constantly worried about other women or herself.