DEEP POLINT

Woe to him who does not even know himself  to defiantly refuse, 
or die simply and quietly  - and can't be silent,  he tolerated listening in
silence with his mouth closed.  
He cannot escape his selfish, judgmental fate:  to a
love that is undying even from certainty,  nor to a tropical paradise,  from whom
worthy retribution cannot be torn apart  his promise, which is then fulfilled with
interest.    

A worm gnaws at his brainwashed brain and heart.  A dried thorn remained 
also the misunderstood declaration of loyalty.  - You don't need a hand, a hug, or
comfort  - woe to the one who needs to be alone  to bear the cross he endured.  He
can't be happy,  agreement, relationship harmony;  an irritable temper gathers in
his soul,  lava rage all the way  to the look that cuts like a scalpel  - from
there he crawls under me,  gradually getting heavier  either a heavy concrete block
or a rock ridge.    

They flap over him insufficiently,  sluggish decades,  like half-blind moles towards the groping light.  A brainwashed marionette is your newest acquaintance.  
Absence gnaws and then consumes you.  There can be no peace here or there.  A single star-soul still shines within  and you can hardly find a worthy partner,  so
they can understand your hellish ordeal.  Movements, gazes sink,  they will sink in if you let them.  

His two angelic arms wave like traitors in the wind.   
Earthworms and creepers are now crawling on it,  who lightly gave up his apostate dreams.
 They roll like a wheel in the manner of Sisyphus  the aggravating burdens of
their compromise to the invaders.  Swims - if necessary - even against the tide,  a
haughty, overbearing, proud man dedicatedly.  For straw puppets that can be pulled on a
string  it never grows laurels nowadays.  Alas for that  who cannot sell himself
bribably!