Blick aus meinem Fenster

In the storm
Stands the white rose
tumultuous waves
of destruction abound her

Yet tall is the white rose
strong in the face
Of the sensed doom around her
And she does not bow down

Pure is the white rose
In the compost earth
growing eternal strength
in the nights that so hurt

I see not the white rose
She is so far away
But I long to protect her
But only the words can I say

So I send her my words
And my poets heart
To help her when
there is hope to see her through

Be Strong little flower
Your heart will guide true
And as long as you want
I will always talk to you

Poe. (another)

5.8.11 00:46

Lady Windermeres Fächer

Schicksalsschläge lassen sich ertragen – sie kommen von außen, sind zufällig. Aber durch eigene Schuld leiden – das ist der Stachel des Lebens.

Oscar Wilde

16.8.11 20:32

Gratis bloggen bei