[Declaration]
A poet I am not, so I don’t pursue rhyme,
since life itself does rhyme not know.

[Introduction]
My body is still mine, but likely not for long.
During daily struggle Ares takes its chances.
My pneuma flows, vibrates like ever before.

[My first pain]
Yet fled they have, my near ones.
They experience all alone already,
too much trouble to outlive this life.
My weakness is their greatest fear.

[My second pain]
Disappeared are my friends,
in search of foolish guarantee for this life,
completely bound up in their fear
for this grim and cruel existence,
and Thanatos who threatens them.

[My third pain]
Away is now my love,
entirely under the spell of Priapus,
by defining an ultra short moment
as eternal fulfillment
and by firmly closing both his eyes,
stripping of obligation.

[Observation]
My strength, my work, creative urge
will be believed only when other people praise,
since just respecting is too much required.
If then suddenly all days turn ebony,
if nights start glowing in torrid light,
then flees resistance and stability,
to pave the way for this outlandish loneliness.

[Final confession]
How oft did I attend a funeral:
a near one, neighbour, friend, or even lover?
I looked at the coffin, people standing around
and could think of one thing only:
Which error did I make? What went so wrong?
That he could break loose from his body,
freed from his loneliness.
That I am still a prisoner.

Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah

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