I know I am angry with most things anger
part of my anatomy of my biosphere of my liver my liver
is angry I know of all things anger but only
almost angry with you
for believing in hope I wish I so wish
hope was mine but it IS just a word do you
see hope in the hedges or just
bushes waiting for spring do you
fear spring will never spring again and if
so how can you live now
how can you feed yourself how
can your nightly dreams stimulate
with wonder and lost memories of things you never knew please
let me have this absence of hope
illusions are wonderful pearls on the night sky of the heart
and when the sun shines only memories can pluck them
or leave them there by character not choice you
are so much you that
I can easily give you and all
other things not mine but hope
I have not to give
I always act and never not
living is the doing and when it stops
my anger will too
I know!
Note til den danske udgave mangler
So much anger up against “illusions [that] are wonderful pearls on the night sky of the heart.” Thank you for the depth of this poem.