Filled Up

I am a wessel

Nothing more or less

Filled with the garbage of our time

It’s hope, fantasies and illusions

I act upon what I understand

I bully myself upon the belief

That our unfortunate is

And that failure should

Be punished by death and misfortune

The religion of our times

The Great Battle

Fighting as an underdog

Creating an inner peace

The fight seem so pure

Inside me I find peace

Even when losing

I feel alive

Alas beaten up

The wind is cold

And my body warm

Like when making

Love

Punishment

Time might fly

I don’t

Resting on memory and luck

Still being alive after all that time

Without anything more than a blanket

And some black tea with the occasional

Potatoes. I did not choose this life

This life choose me

This life caught me

Now I have to live it

Inner Turmoil

A terrible place to be in

Suffering all the time

The much needed distance

Is now gone

An opened wound

A mindful being

Slow Moving Disaster

After a big shock

(It is a never ending sequence)

Here we are

Again and again

Trapped in the turmoil

Conflict of course

Going on again and again

If there only was shadow

And a little bit of water

Some flowers

The Only Soul

Stress isn’t a relief

Just a bit of thinking that

Affects your body

A pattern for survival

A way to live

Exist in a complex

World

That eventually drains

You up because

We have only one soul

And it’s need to be

Taken care of

Gently

Conclusions

I live in the night

I die in the day

When the light

Is hard and bright

Crushing every brittle bone

Giving no inner light

Just work to be made

Dues to be paid

Insights

Being lonely

Among people

In the strong

Sunlight of spring

Clear sightedness

Is not wisdom

Just thinking