12 ordspråk av Georg Trakl
Georg Trakl
Black frost. The ground is hard, the air tastes bitter. Your stars cluster in evil signs.
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Despair, night in the grieving senses.
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Earlier lives drift by on silver soles, and the shadows of the damned descend into these sighing waters.
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For whoever is lonely there is a tavern.
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Frost and smoke. A white shirt of stars burns your worn-out shoulders, and God's vultures tear at your metallic heart.
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I drank the silence of God from a spring in the woods.
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Shuddering under the autumn stars, each year, the head sinks lower and lower.
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Silently, God opens his golden eyes over the place of skulls.
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The blue of my eyes is extinguished in this night, the red gold of my heart.
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The guilt of newborns is immense.
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The near stillness recalls what is forgotten, extinct angels.
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When we are thirsty, we drink the white waters of the pool, the sweetness of our mournful childhood.
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