Out of the corpse-warm foyer of heaven steps the sun.
There it is not the immortals,
but rather the fallen, we perceive.
And brilliance doesn't trouble itself with decay. Our godhead,
history, has ordered for us a grave
from which there is no resurrection.
(It's better to create than destroy what's unnecessary)
Saturday, November 6, 2010
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Labels: Ingeborg Bachmann
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