STOLEN YOUTH

It's closed around you and you never ask whose son-calf the Circle was! There's probably no way out. You could escape, though, if you really wanted to, into a loving mother's lap, until the fog in your heart tightens. Fate leads us along its winding dangerous paths: what can bring us to the ground beyond death-loss, and what can lift us to the stars?

You do not want to see-notice Theiresias-with eyes in front of you the world is already drowned in infectious filth. Looking forward to your final day?! And where the unworthy destruction had developed, your cowardly flight came in order, because you kept your moral standing still within you. - Where are the blazing, bright fires of joy that once shone the tangled lines of your clown face curled to tears?

Now only your pitiful, helpless bitterness pours into the world of which you are a part! Your anxiety – don't pretend who can notice it? It creeps into you more and more urgently, and the burrows of your already truth-telling heart are threatened by the sneaking interest: can everything and everyone be bought? - Who has been cured by such principles, it may even be diamond-hard!

To endure, to endure, but also to hope can be taught by the miserly stingy-years. Like a destitute tramp, who dug himself out of his hole with his bare hands, and sued with men if necessary, stubborn-stubborn, and fought even more with himself, maiming himself; through a rain of falling curses and words of interest, he could survive the struggling Calvary he had created. And though you often still whine about your regrettable fate, which now, like a weak iron, is tempered by a tenacious reality. He does not give to fail, as satisfaction is trifling.

As long as your organs and pump-heart can stand, you will rise from the yellow earth, even if you have been trampled!