MINORITY BELIEVED TO BE LOST

A bird of fate nests in my soul on a storm-torn branch; he would spread his sick, broken wings, he would prefer to fly far away from here, where he is unable to assert himself. A strange shell-solitude surrounds me with steel claw-petals, and while I would often follow my heart's orders, I would rather soon completely turn away from the big, superficial World.

Far away - come on! -, I hardly got there; classical philology would have been good to learn, understand, and perceive, and while my greedily thirsty mind could only have the love of books left over my head, the teacher, accuser, and student-juror passed judgment on my head. My withering memories, even the open wounds, can gradually absorb and not heal unless the one-Beloved finally finds me and feels my Sisyphusian burden.

- It would be nice if I could finally take care of myself with a confident, self-confident mood, so that I don't realize at the end of my life that I lived in vain; let it be, even though I may have fate-changing, noble humility, and mean, name-calling words are of no use - may I not have to unfairly walk through a precious Life as a prodigal! I can easily be erased from the memory of my friends, I think, and yet when I think that happiness, self-absorbed childlike joy can only come to the privileged, alone - the anxious, orphaned child in me turns into a terrified, half-hearted stumbling and stumbling child. Sometimes I think about it: doubt and conscious stubborn defiance, as a kind of secret temptation, have always covered my path as faithful shadows.

And it's as if I recognize the ruins of the unworthy, brain-sapping present in repressed visions: my well-kept flower garden and my earthly things will soon come to an end, and if I'm not careful, the multitude of crystal-clear, loyal words will become the prey of all, just like the false promises of phrases hidden in handshakes !