Urteil (Judgement)

Please scroll down for an English translation.

Gebrannt von tausend roten Sonnen,
in süßer Bitterkeit geronnen,
zerbrochen auch in tausend Scherben,
vernarbt, zu müde, um zu werben,

verrottet und erneut beschworen,
zum bloßen Spiele auserkoren,
verlassen und mithin vergessen,
von Reu’ und Kummer ganz zerfressen,

verlacht, verachtet und zerrissen,
verleumdet wider beßres Wissen,
verschmäht, vergeudet und bedauert,
im tiefsten Dunkel eingemauert,

liegt’s still und will nicht länger schlagen,
so reagiert es auf die Fragen
mit müdem Lächeln und Geschichten:
Ach, könnt es sich nur selber richten!

[English translation
Burnt by a thousand red suns,
in sweet bitterness coagulated,
burst into a thousand pieces, too,
scarred, too tired to court,

rotten and resummoned,
chosen as a mere plaything,
abandoned and thus forgotten,
completely eroded by regret and sorrow,

derided, despised, and ripped to shreds,
vilified against better judgement,
rejected, wasted, and pitied,
immured within the deepest dark,

it’s lying still and refuses to beat any longer,
thus it reacts to the questions
with a tired smile and stories:
Oh, would that it could put itself to death!]


The following is a poem by Amy Bells and me. Every first stanza is mine, every second stanza is hers.

I found myself a dying sun,
I lay ashore, all mem’ries gone,
Beneath a sky of crimson clay,
Where every world spends its last day.

The dusty sand beneath my form
I used to love looks so forlorn.
The waves crash down with energy
They do not wish to share with me.

I am tired of it all,
Sick to death, I take the fall
Down into the void, abyss,
Without parting glass or kiss.

You will not find me here tomorrow,
I have drowned myself in sorrow,
The bleakest darkness of my past
Swells in the distance like a mast.

I shall not parish, all the same,
Your world is evil and insane,
Yet I shall rise again at last,
While you’ll be buried in the past.

No Hope in Hell

There is not a hope in hell,
Since hell does not exist.
There is no place for gods to dwell,
Just smoke and mirrors, mist.

The blind seek shelter in the night,
In mysteries of old.
The unexplained is their delight,
Thus, sceptics they will scold.

But reason cannot be undone,
And truth shall yet prevail.
Religion will be dead and gone,
And science be our sail.