Followers

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You let yourself strike twice.
You give away your last shirt.
You look after the lost.
Your crown is not of gold.
Your throne is the street.
Your hands and your heart are broken.

How can we then live differently than sheep among wolves?

Dear Daisy

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your heart is like the sun
your tender arms
aren’t touched by the drops
or are these tears
maybe my own
suffering together
with all what suffers
and is wounded
blessed are those
who still can cry
how strong are those
who can show their true faces
risk to be beaten again
in their vulnerable openness
which is not weakness
but beauty strength and love