WRUNG OUT

this pain wants expression
i do not know how to
grant it
there are no reassuring
voices here
no patient ears
who listen
there are no eyes
to soothe the nerves
no beings who will still
the restless soul
these lines are obscenities
wrung out from
unwilling times
vulgarities which chill
the consciousness
of pride
mirrors of pacelessness
i reel under the uselessness
of my days
what words i have spun
from idle days
what creations made
in vacuum walls
in the vacancy of all
i grant myself
one consolation
its the likes of these
called poets, i hear
they leave behind
literature
i am told

SHADOWS

shadows lengthen
they lengthen and enter me
dark, shapeless, ugly
shadows
they enter me and make
a shadow out of me
time lies heavy
it does not fly anymore
the way it used to
when you were there
time the unreal gnome
from flight to stagnation
it reaches
it bewilders me
a shadow yet
so very alone among
shadows i am
i sit and brood
i shelve into the past
for there i am
more comfortable
i see you
and myself of course
two beings crushed
together in joyous pain
once again thought
finds wings ,and
just for awhile
immobility finds transport