Please, Mom and Dad. . .
My hands are small - I don't mean to spill my milk
My legs are short - Please slow down so I can keep up with you
Don't slap my hand when I touch something bright and pretty - I don't understand
Please look at me when I talk to you - It lets me know you're really listening
My feelings are tender - Don't nag me all day - Let me make mistakes without feeling stupid
Don't expect the bed I made or the picture I draw to be perfect - Just love me for trying
Remember I am a child not a small adult - Sometimes I don't understand what you are saying
I love you so much - Please love me just for being me - Not for the things I can do

Things are changing
But nothing changes
And still there are changes

If I died
Who would care?
No friend in the world,
Nobody there.
Nobody knows
The pain that I hide.
Nobody knows
How I feel inside.

Her cherished and obstinate skin
lies deeply under the watery tree.
Everything is altogether possible
and blind men can also see.

Tomorrow we shall meet,
Death and I -
And he shall thrust his sword
Into one who is wide awake.
But in the meantime how grievous the memory
Of hours frittered away.

Here and now - only this is real:
The good face of an old man,
Caught naked in an unguarded moment,
Without past, without future.

A wise old owl sat on an oak,
The more he saw
the less he spoke;
The less he spoke
the more he heard;
Why aren't we like that wise old bird?

Endless the series of things without name
On the way back to where there is nothing.

Day slowly bleeds to death
Through the wound made
When the sharp horizon's edge
Ripped through the sky
Into its now empty veins
seeps the darkness.
The corpse stiffens,
Embraced by the chill of night.
Over the dead on are lit
Some silent stars.

Silence shatters to pieces
The mind's armor,
Leaving it naked before
Autumn's clear eye.

Choked by its clown's mask
And quite dry, my mind
Is crumbling

When too scared to walk
Upright, he tried to crawl.

Not knowing the question,
It is easy for him
To give the answer.

Denied the sought-after,
He longed to deserve
To be the sought-after.

They laid the blame on him
He didn't know what it was
But he confessed it.

He wasn't wanted
When, nontheless, he came
He could only watch them play.

School was over. The yard was empty
The ones he sought
Had found new friends.

My home drove me
Into the wilderness.
Few look for me. Few hear me.

His moral lecture
Blazed with hate.
What could have driven a child that far?

That chapter is closed.
Nothing binds me:
All is made ready, all waiting.

What have I to fear?
If their arrows hit,
If their arrows kill,
What is there in that
To cry about?

Far away,
For the last time
I heard the scream,
The scream of terror
The voice of loneliness
Screaming for love.

Nobody was watching
When, one day, he jumped
For the loop of rope,
And his chest got caught in its coils
And he choked to death.
Nobody was watching -
And who had ever understood
His efforts to be happy,
His moments of faith in us,
His constant anxiety,
Longing for something.