Between Fag End Poem by Norbert Tasev

There is a way that I would not escape this now begging Loneliness; I would hide myself in a cell grid! I could also become invisible to the alert self! I think I am skeptical then! My Instincts Whistle Ideas Whisper in My Soul I'm still flying into the glowing plume of a flaming sun in the wake of Icarus! Who can give me the strength to be able to deal with the depths of the gap of my daily worries more boldly! Confidence is hesitant, while I only study with apostate reservations!

I watch the dying glass balls dying in the dewy, factory-smelling mornings; the light, dripping light powder dusts with lust! With squeaky batting, the curious butterfly flies into flames! Pessimism digests everything! He is waking himself up and constantly scattering - that is why he can still be alive - the gaping tomb of Death Gaps! - The haunting Moon brazenly points to a yellowed, lower half! When the seemingly Time also shatters into your present; the Redeeming Peace would unfold its wings!

My own ingrained Death - so I can prepare for it - I always relive! Exciting, faithful memories of Andalog are restless; I still listen with awakening patience to the word of the Depths; lava-blood is bubbling up many times in the crater cracks of my heart, my rebellious desires to do so will subside as a renunciation if I cannot experience a sparkling Hope around me!

This is how I would try to survive in the realm of Served Times! You will find your growing inheritance in your selfish death.