Ein Gewölbe Für Den Sarkophag Ihres Hoffens

Dark
you call the future
But it is day
shining like suns

Far
into the distance
reaches the past
of yesterday's glow

Whoever dives into its night
Will be blind like the mole
drawing its lightless corridors through forlorn empires
under the apple tree into the bowel of wrath

Forsaken is god and the well of life's water
We dug our own cisterns, broken and leaking

Souls crawling through tombs –
not of their own experience
building a vault
for the monstrous coffin of hope.
Knocking desperately at the gates
In the delusion to become
what others have been

Doubter
Look at poor Abschalom
Proud like the morning star
He hangs on his hair

Heavy as a millstone hangs tight around the neck
all his burdens
shall rest upon all of his heirs

O hope –
show me faith
O self –
build her a marble shrine
to entomb her remains

And esperance
whips her wild team across the marshlands of history
Through the feces and the carrion
Grinding the hopeless
towards the abyss of desperation
Hooves trample the guilt
under wheels ...