Hello,

how are you all? I haven't written anything new for a long time, I hope certain people are not resentful ... well, another time. I just don't feel up to date at the moment, I haven't heard from me at AM for a long time ... I hope you'll forgive me. The actual chapters may also have to wait a little longer.

This time without a long foreword, it's about friendship, and insights that the heart sometimes has much too late ... don't you know that when you seem to bump everyone in the head and don't even know why? When you hold onto the old for too long, actually want to let it go and still can't?

Criticism welcome!
Long live the mind! Your hydrangea


______________________________________


Cloud Fog -[Heart]Friends - Cloud Lair


«The clouds are over me»

said the heart as it spoke to the conscience.
Light clouds
formed a gentle mist.

A veil
from the outside world,
at the same time a veil
in front of the interior.


«You have to appreciate the clouds!»

appealed the conscience on hearing the wail.
But the gentle voice of conscience
did not penetrate the veil.

Light, apparently
feathery light
powder
fluffy plushy
small cotton balls made of cloud material

wrapped themselves around the heart
clogged his ears.

The clouds were not over him;
everywhere - and nowhere -
the little cotton balls - pure air -
that apparently clogged the ears - really? -


It was just that
theecho of the heart
that the heart heard;

the silence that came from outside
did not affect the heart's desire.

«Friends where are you?»

cried the heart in desperation.
Through the little cotton balls
the gentle mist

didn't hear it.

A little tear
which fell
when it noticed the sneak.

"So I need you ..."
it whispered itself,
as the fog disappeared
and saw the heart clearly again;

«The clouds were over him
but nothing was so easy above the clouds
like in songs sung about

even if it was a little more normal and dreamlike,
than a clear sky. »,

appealed to the conscience.
And finally the heart heard:

The clouds, just a place
to find some refuge
before everyday life.
Driven on by the wind
no permanent places.
Return to the friends, the homeland,

at the latest when the wind nudges you gently,
to leave the cloud hoard.