Ein paar Chance.

-

Du hast es.
  Ich hasse mich.
Warum machen wir es so schwer?
         Ich kann nicht Liebe mehr
geben. Was ist mit uns?
Wirklich, wir sind Idioten.
Natürlich, wir haben nur ein Paar Chance.
Ich denke, brauche ich dieser Fragen.
~~~~~~~~~~
A small look at my childish command of the German language. Zu schade.

In any case, cheers!

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

(WORK IN PROGRESS) The Essentials of a Poet

-
You're not a book: I don't need to read every one of your signals and wonder what my analysis is when I reach the end. When I push, you either bend or break and I'm left with specks of my once-affectionate, now-broken heart. Of course, that wasn't my intention. Is it ever? I just wanted                           to open up again, let the camera out and take my shot;               let the photograph develop alongside this God-given relationship. You're not a frappuccino                  or a cup of latte that I have to decide between before I can sit back and drink                           in relative peace. But I'll take both; the cashier keeps the change and I'll be better off with both sides of you. I want to know everything about you, so I'll keep ask...
Read more

Sweet Medicine

-
So I've heard that the difference between poison and medicine is in the dose.      I've also heard that food should be our medicine, the front lines against disease.    I've also  heard                          (bear with me) that the quickest way to a man's heart           is through his belly. Let's put aside the obvious      problems glaring at us            with glowing,              unsettling eyes - of the literal relationship of constant ingestion of meaty, fatty proteins and heart disease - and let's just sit back, relax: take this     on a more abstract level. Her words & actions        were saccharine: thick dollops of gelato filling a generously large bowl. It took more than a few years to finish, but I got throu...
Read more

Because...

-
Image
Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labour, and my leisure too, For his civility. We passed the school where children played At wrestling in a ring; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarecely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then 'tis centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity. Emily Dickinson "Because I could Not Stop for Death..." I stated in an earlier post that I'd venture into poetry - I never said I'd take another's. But this isn't a poetry post - this is one of those kind-of-essays. I have just recently been given the news of the passing of my grandmother on my mother's side. It's hard enough to deal with a relative's dea...
Read more