Monochrome

the infinite looks out
on the closed windows
splashes before moving
villages hidden between
valleys of melancholy

– I hardly dare to look

I am blinded by
what may always remain
until the autocratic idiot
the fungus of the ego

– that festers with false promises

erases what should stay
and the valley of Angels
and muses is flooded away
fortunately, it is not (yet) so
now I hold on to what is (still) allowed

– and keep looking until they pierce my eyes