19636_301815932005_6534865_nImmortal is the sun,

some lands,

probably the wind.

We try to get hold of them,

mostly failing.

Because we do not understand.

And the wind sometimes dies out.


And the first snow fell twice.

Erasing the past,

hiding the traces of flaws,

covering the lapses.

As if they were never here.

Were they?

The stage is pure white now.


The wings have sprouted.

The feathers have grown.

We are ready.

But what do you seek, time traveler?


I’ve foreseen the light.

It‘s in your eyes.



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