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  • NOBLE POETRY  

  • I WANT TO KNOW MYSELF

     

    I have often been ashamed of my weakness, and wept for my sorrow, like a wounded, wounded child. A negative remark, or a howling witch-hunt, My tearful eyes have cast off the mask of happiness with ease. Gutted tunnels or sewer-lines, even human entrails spill with rich heartiness on building plots. 

    The future of Nineveh is infected with uncertainty, bearing witness to the living testimonies of the past, while the spirits of interest can only squander and waste for their own benefit. - I was a fool, I know, now I'll be more stoic and careful: like the rushing of a river without banks, I'll be stubborn, who can be harmed neither by dams nor reservoirs, the sudden ruin of days will still oppress me. What could not be may come to pass, and what is past may come to pass, and there is no need to be bitter about it! 

    I am ashamed of my broken vulnerability, for I would trust myself to the immortal All, if I could meet the One-Father who beats for me, who, unselfish and understanding, might accept me - and I could weep to him, as anonymous, the sins of my empty, gaping-deep spleen. 

    Perhaps no man ever saw the trembling child but the devil-spasm in me, like the prisoner, writhing. Carefully furnished in the emigrant-room of the nursery, I myself dulled, with lazy sloth-movements only delayed by the law of slowness. For my mother's lap I coveted for the umpteenth time. In my brain, the all-sensing essence is still precise and cool, a glowing fear driven by electricity, like an inner magnetic energy, feeds and nourishes my semi-wildness. 

    In our world, deceivable sneaky-worm cunning can trip me up if it really wants to - but many will know who first hooked and chained the sensitive defenseless: crimes of judgment against me will be renewed as unremovable scars! 


     

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