1 min read
Слушать(AI)Delirium
The black snow runs down from the rooftops;
A red finger dips into your brow;
Blue snow flakes sink into the empty room,
They are a lovers’ dying mirrors.
Heavy and torn to pieces the mind muses,
Follows the shadow in the mirror of blue snow flakes,
The cold smile of a deceased harlot.
The evening’s wind weeps in the scent of carnations.
Georg Trakl
Georg Trakl (3 February 1887 – 3 November 1914) was an Austrian poet and brother of the pianist Grete Trakl. He is considered one of the most im
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Grodek
At evening the autumn woodlands With deadly weapons Over the golden And lakes of blue, the
Psalm
It is a light, that the wind has extinguished It is a pub on the heath, that a drunk departs in the afternoon It is a vineyard, charred and black with holes full of spiders It is a space, that they have white-limed with milk
Helian
In the spirit’s solitary It is lovely to walk in the Along the yellow walls of summer Quietly whisper the steps in the grass; yet always
De Profundis
There is a stubble field on which a black rain falls There is a tree which, brown, stands lonely here There is a hissing wind which haunts deserted huts—-How sad this evening Past the village
