April 1989

 

In Memoriam ~ A Self Portrait

 

he walked and he talked and

yes

he even sometimes laughed

a pleasant laugh

if dishonest

harsher thoughts hidden

beneath its gentle sound

 

if you’d taken a closer look

into his eyes

then

you’d not have seen joy

hidden behind the fog

joy and pain do not share rooms

his eyes

had he not hidden them

would have told the truth

 

yes

he lived, he breathed

outwardly

he was alive

inwardly

he was all the time

his own mausoleum

 

through his life

death held its grip

until he himself

became a pale fašade

a front of life

through which death lived