Poetry

There is some confession, outside the sea foams,
he feels comfortable with Dido where there is rest,
he feels no pain; the waves want to carry him along
there is no heartache, the sweet bond
still exists in the core of his heart;
no other women has been so dear,
she is in the night, the starless darkness
where he loves her until the morning starts.
He stands still for a moment; he has to sail with the tide,
he cannot stay, torn he has to go on;
time lingers, minutes drags along like hours
when he later becomes small on the stern,
his existence is shaken with cutting pain,
his eyes follow the bring orbit of the stars.