It is a hard time for one
To hold it all
In the sheath of the lonely heart,
Even though it wishes to,
With woe and weal
Of life...
Eyes all open
Let them dance and fall
Down in each other's empty arms
Whether forever
Or even for a little while.
Some dreams are
There certain to be shattered
Scattered on the floor
As they are often destined to be so.
The feeling remains stubborn
Yet stoical now
In one's sabotaged cottage
Of solitary solitude
Badly reigning inside
Pouring out...
Time nestles and nurses
The innocent and gullible heart
To be cured to stand
All prepared
Once again to cope with
Blows after blows
To come in the battle of life.
The man in us is quite capable
Of overcoming all the blows;
He never bows down
And will never,
He must not,
Of course! Not for sure!
