Verdict: Freedom

Sentenced to liberty. A mortal privilege.
Beneath a leaden sky, colors are washed away,
We are prisoners of our own reveries and narrow galleries,
Where time has gnawed at hope like oxidized treasures.

Being is sticky mud. It crawls on bare skin.
Things press down in a heap, ugly and blunt.
Litter has swallowed space in the musty ether,
Like flies in syrup – wingless and blind.

A glassy, invisible eye – a silent warden.
It mints every gesture on a steel guillotine.
In the mirror – no one. Only a paled gaze
Searches for an ancient phantom in the frozen depth.

A desolate horizon. A lack of light and heat.
Without God or director – a broken flight.
Alienated, belonging to no one… In the epicenter of evil –
The executioner of oneself, and oneself – the entire extinguished world.

Away with weak compassion! This cold is the highest dignity.
I drink the black void like a goblet of wormwood.
The last meaning has vanished, charity has fallen silent –
I will dissolve alone into the night. I have chosen this guilt.