Die Stille

I wait for a hundred years,
For that release within me,
For it to crack my teeth and ring in my ears,
Smash my back and crush me,

Scarecrows of feudalisms and axioms,
So heavy and full of idiocies
Within them wondrous freedoms,
With grave and tortuous responsibilities,

I cry for the joyful sorrow
The despair which makes me smile,
My heart stricken by an arrow
Making me laugh a while.

I hear the distant crow crow
And the drip drop surely down.
Time shall never quicken nor slow
Lines of that ever daring frown.