Hidden confrontation

  
I miss the whole of the same-age, honest-to-the-truth friendship security. The protective, Twilight-rich Mendes of romanticism, the choreographic grace of movements, and the uncertain consciousness: who in the twilight of my life can remain faithful to me?!

I know now well: day by day, as hundreds of flowers drop their petals, I gradually break down and give up the happiness that cannot be won. After all, even today there may be another fragment of life.

Without insignificant trifles, not a single petnable look or silly charming gesture will pass. I am sorely lacking the obstinate and simple-minded courage of the heart, still chirping mouths constantly suing and fighting.

We can disappear at any time as a vile, meaningless figure, or as a floundering death: then can there also be someone who will come with me?!

The micro-cosmos of minutes weeps like pearls in our eyes – I have wept many already and I can't bear any more! -The hour of judgment will blow over my head, in which we could still believe that we could hide and hide naively.

The breath and pulse still beat in my ear, measured and thin. A little body already busy in someone else's vascular system will grow, enrich, and even so it will not be certain that it will know me. Orphaned, by Surrender, I raise up the lava stones of my plundered, defenseless-stubborn runaway passions, that they may not destroy my precisely constructed work and my professed intentions.

The complex convolutions of my brain already hold the great idea of what I may know a hundred years after my death, if they can be fulfilled. Now, like a blind man in the dark of the night, I must Ghost the kingdom of nature and I must weep for myself a thousand times in a thousand varied forms steadfastly!