Autobiographical Poem I
Twenty three years remind the tears of my eyes.
I hear the cry of the land,
Taste the wind from the lake.
I see the broken fruit beneath the pavement
of my feet,
I know that it was beautiful.
I weep at the kiss of a lover,
Lost lover.
I would taste the fruit
and know that it was good.
I would dwell in the house of beauty
and know my only home
forever.
The sensual strut begun
I have lost the path
and approach the elementary town
with empty veins,
treading heavily upon my home.
Autobiographical Poem II
This bread I break was once the oat
but I have scorned the oat
welcomed the broken bread to my home
I drink the wine of the grape’s broken joy,
I drink my wine
I snap my bread
I let my blood and break my flesh.
Traitor to the sensual root and sap,
I break the sun,
Pull down the wind,
Make desolate my veins,
My money poisoning the land.
Martin Ahrens 