Helmut Lauschke
Border and Word Breakthrough
Reflections
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Inhaltsverzeichnis
Titel
The last breath
The heavy long pipes
If only you and you alone
Pull the splitter
If the baskets
The rim ring
They slip on their knees
Dark ring shadow
Southern Cross
Transience
In germinating fluorescence
O Stone of Tears
Panting, nameless
Mouths are solved
Let the tear drip
Soft waves
Also the light
Finger
Everything
Blown over by the wind
Word crumbs
Out of the blink
What nights
In the waving go
It stays
Whether source or mill
Moments
Latticed
What starts?
In the crowd
Thorns
Hands
Without the effort
It's the big size
They commit the silence
Whether cathedrals
Breathe and build yourself up
From the day wood
Only when you swim boundless
In the angle of refraction
In the fragment tone
All the stories
They are owls
Deep in the gray
The grass
The walls
Your
Midnight digits
The street
Other
The level
Watch out
It was
Panta rhei
Steinwut
What branches out
Heart
Sunday morning
Silent storms
The icy sea
The string
Love over river and sea
At markings
Layered
Out of the snow
Glasses over clock hands
The buttocks
Cats
At the end
About
Skepticism
In the breath
The land of origin
Who is concerned with the yield
The mouth
The country is breaking up
Keeping the cold
In every child's face
So strange
The years of socialism
Where there are stones
Behind the eyes
Where your eye
With your hands you grasp
Stumps
Dreamless
About the curves
I walk through the house
The small room
You beam the sign
Raven beaks croak
At the lavish fountain
If the human
Wind the rope
The scream is racing over the dunes
Behind the tall beech trees
From the upper compartment
There
Back then
Who will us
From the sea of clouds
Wide stride
Eleven finger shade
Just before the morning
With the resurrection
It's the old laugh
The doom of faith
The door is not locked
There is one
If some of the luminous numbers flicker
Who drives the ocean
You do not have to go to the fire
Much is lost in the breath
Under broken crutches
Being lost
There are many suns
Poem
The stepping out of the house
The stone
Up to the shady angle
The sleeping name
From the cortex blood
I got into the well
Well shaft
That's all for the cat
The years, the words
Impressum neobooks
Helmut Lauschke
Border and Word Breakthrough
Reflections
It is the breath of the memory of a great love that you gave in an infinite way. Yes, it was a wonderful journey through the years, through the days. Great was the moment without the last question of where to go and why.
Life goes into trains, in the counting of the trains you are having a hard time, especially when your heart is racing, when the love gives you more pain, that you lose your orientation and your sight and senses slip away and you are disturbed in the meantime.
What will come, you have guessed it, it takes your strength and pushes you to the ground, as if it were the forest, the young, to clear, which is only growing with its trunks, the thin with the delicate bark and the root branches that begin to grasp in a ground that looks friendly towards you.
It stays with you, the last breath, it's for you. My last eyelid will envelop you with the mantle of joy and longing. See that it is worn and has the patches of pain and loneliness on the sleeves.
They are made of steel and have thick walls, they are turned up, they are directed upwards, as if they were aiming at the dark point in the sky, one of the many buzzing points in the boundless freedom.
The projectiles fly as it bums and molds under the timeless damp and stretches and stretches day by day. Yawn the mouths up and chew them down as long as there is chewing.
It crashes and thunders and frenetically beats, that the old hand, which has been furrowed, shivers with the little bit of rice and tears the thin skin in fright.
The hand is held up like a thousand other hands, as if sticking to walls. The old hand covers the washed-out stone that carries yesterday into the future.
burying you in me as in a stone, because the outside dies, what still lives deep down in the core, then nothing will out of me but the rest without will, which remains and is to tap off to the last dullness.
What then can arise anew, that is something completely different, whose name nobody knows, and whose form from the unformed no one suspects and no one draws.
That's the way it is, and that's the way it will be: the idea is great and powerful, we cannot stand against it, but we are carried far to it. It is a flight that does not stop after us.
from my breath and hold it tight, untie the fetter from your breath, that we breathe and taste some of the freedom in the lungs.
It is the mourner for the silent, the once brave and happy helper, the friend of the children and the elderly. He will miss us on the fields of crops and crops, on the squares and streets of simple life.
His words were: Rejoice in nature, which as our Mother gives us all. She does it abundantly and in a most wonderful way, because she leads us through her life as her children, her beautiful hand reaches out to us and lifts us, and carries and comforts us.
Now the language lies perfected or unfinished in the gone-away, as if it sleeps for eternity in silence with the good heart, who now silently carries the past into the future and no longer thinks of returning to earth. It is imaginable that the friend of the children and the elderly watches out of the space of great freedom for what the people down here are trying to understand and often contradict each other.
The mouth is open to the word, it needs breathing with the air, which moves the word to become audible. This astonishes the mouth to speechlessness when open openness is able to do so.
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