Vanitas
No sun sufficient
For all this cold within
Nor gods to forgive
All of my mortal sins
No streams or rivers
Will wash my face anew
No stars sufficient
To make these dreams come true
No flowers will they
Colour my darkened eyes
No ears will want to
Listen to all my cries
No flames will burn off
The roots of my despair
No lungs will want to
Get me to breathe their air
No scorching passions
Will ever know my limbs
No wishful thinking
Will make me want to live
No mud to bury
A broken woman’s bones
I keep on living
Under the sticks, the stones.
