Border and Word Breakthrough

Helmut Lauschke

Border and Word Breakthrough

Reflections

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Inhaltsverzeichnis

Titel

The last breath

The heavy long pipes

If only you and you alone

Pull the splitter

If the baskets

The rim ring

They slip on their knees

Dark ring shadow

Southern Cross

Transience

In germinating fluorescence

O Stone of Tears

Panting, nameless

Mouths are solved

Let the tear drip

Soft waves

Also the light

Finger

Everything

Blown over by the wind

Word crumbs

Out of the blink

What nights

In the waving go

It stays

Whether source or mill

Moments

Latticed

What starts?

In the crowd

Thorns

Hands

Without the effort

It's the big size

They commit the silence

Whether cathedrals

Breathe and build yourself up

From the day wood

Only when you swim boundless

In the angle of refraction

In the fragment tone

All the stories

They are owls

Deep in the gray

The grass

The walls

Your

Midnight digits

The street

Other

The level

Watch out

It was

Panta rhei

Steinwut

What branches out

Heart

Sunday morning

Silent storms

The icy sea

The string

Love over river and sea

At markings

Layered

Out of the snow

Glasses over clock hands

The buttocks

Cats

At the end

About

Skepticism

In the breath

The land of origin

Who is concerned with the yield

The mouth

The country is breaking up

Keeping the cold

In every child's face

So strange

The years of socialism

Where there are stones

Behind the eyes

Where your eye

With your hands you grasp

Stumps

Dreamless

About the curves

I walk through the house

The small room

You beam the sign

Raven beaks croak

At the lavish fountain

If the human

Wind the rope

The scream is racing over the dunes

Behind the tall beech trees

From the upper compartment

There

Back then

Who will us

From the sea of ​​clouds

Wide stride

Eleven finger shade

Just before the morning

With the resurrection

It's the old laugh

The doom of faith

The door is not locked

There is one

If some of the luminous numbers flicker

Who drives the ocean

You do not have to go to the fire

Much is lost in the breath

Under broken crutches

Being lost

There are many suns

Poem

The stepping out of the house

The stone

Up to the shady angle

The sleeping name

From the cortex blood

I got into the well

Well shaft

That's all for the cat

The years, the words

Impressum neobooks

The last breath

Helmut Lauschke

Border and Word Breakthrough

Reflections

It is the breath of the memory of a great love that you gave in an infinite way. Yes, it was a wonderful journey through the years, through the days. Great was the moment without the last question of where to go and why.

Life goes into trains, in the counting of the trains you are having a hard time, especially when your heart is racing, when the love gives you more pain, that you lose your orientation and your sight and senses slip away and you are disturbed in the meantime.

What will come, you have guessed it, it takes your strength and pushes you to the ground, as if it were the forest, the young, to clear, which is only growing with its trunks, the thin with the delicate bark and the root branches that begin to grasp in a ground that looks friendly towards you.

It stays with you, the last breath, it's for you. My last eyelid will envelop you with the mantle of joy and longing. See that it is worn and has the patches of pain and loneliness on the sleeves.

The heavy long pipes

They are made of steel and have thick walls, they are turned up, they are directed upwards, as if they were aiming at the dark point in the sky, one of the many buzzing points in the boundless freedom.

The projectiles fly as it bums and molds under the timeless damp and stretches and stretches day by day. Yawn the mouths up and chew them down as long as there is chewing.

It crashes and thunders and frenetically beats, that the old hand, which has been furrowed, shivers with the little bit of rice and tears the thin skin in fright.

The hand is held up like a thousand other hands, as if sticking to walls. The old hand covers the washed-out stone that carries yesterday into the future.

If only you and you alone

burying you in me as in a stone, because the outside dies, what still lives deep down in the core, then nothing will out of me but the rest without will, which remains and is to tap off to the last dullness.

What then can arise anew, that is something completely different, whose name nobody knows, and whose form from the unformed no one suspects and no one draws.

That's the way it is, and that's the way it will be: the idea is great and powerful, we cannot stand against it, but we are carried far to it. It is a flight that does not stop after us.

Pull the splitter

from my breath and hold it tight, untie the fetter from your breath, that we breathe and taste some of the freedom in the lungs.

It is the mourner for the silent, the once brave and happy helper, the friend of the children and the elderly. He will miss us on the fields of crops and crops, on the squares and streets of simple life.

His words were: Rejoice in nature, which as our Mother gives us all. She does it abundantly and in a most wonderful way, because she leads us through her life as her children, her beautiful hand reaches out to us and lifts us, and carries and comforts us.

Now the language lies perfected or unfinished in the gone-away, as if it sleeps for eternity in silence with the good heart, who now silently carries the past into the future and no longer thinks of returning to earth. It is imaginable that the friend of the children and the elderly watches out of the space of great freedom for what the people down here are trying to understand and often contradict each other.

The mouth is open to the word, it needs breathing with the air, which moves the word to become audible. This astonishes the mouth to speechlessness when open openness is able to do so.