Der Tod Von Ein Dichter

not yet seen by others not yet devoured all thy flesh not yet vain enough to lie myself to sleep not quite through suffering for i shall wait for the endless sleep to quinch my thirst for death for my life as an empty soul no river runs through where the devils has left behind wrappings torn from my body my gift of love for another ripped away at the roots to be placed in a jar to be preserved for the rest of thy living life no more weeping for a senseless pleasure of breath for with every breath there's pain so let me not ask you lord for light for i only beg of you for death the senseless death of a poet