The call

Awaken from the undead.
Searching for the bad.
Always near the dread.

Like justice for all.
A dragons fall.
The poetry for me calls.
And writing killing loves.

Is it a teraphy?
Or just a game like jeopady?
No, the poets tragedy.

It’s a tragedy what happened to me.
It’s a tragedy in all what i see.
Never a tragedy i wanted to be.
It’s a killing kind of what’s called „we“.

Getting day by day older.
Nothing changes in normal order.
My life written in a dirty folder.

Death is my date.
She’s the onlyone i can’t come too late.
All i do is destroying and create.
For it everything has to wait.

Forgotten rememberance is save.
Lost is all i have gave.
I’m digging my own grave.