The border river from your thousand repressed thoughts*
In the haze of the evening it lies far away before you,
And from the distance the planks seem like mountains.
You were comfortable in your dreams Already here a thousand times.
Behind the river the land will expand,
There the storms will be silent.
You and time, you are forever running away from each other.
In you flows the Rubicon,
And above it the bridge made of glass.
Night is falling from the other end of the world.
Whoever dares to take the step should still recognize the way.
You kill time and drift away.
The Rubicon flows into you,
In you stands the bridge made of glass
Stony threads, built in the dust of your weaknesses,
bind and paralyze each of you arduous steps.
This is your curse, the child of your old promises,
and you know that you are only the third in their alliance.
Dispel the powerlessness, you suspect that in the end the Journey
probably waits less than you leave on the way.
And the shapes that doubtfully waved to you in tears on the gray bank
they will follow you.
And still: The world will change.
You will not cross any border on earth,
however far the steps take you.
You are trapped in freedom,
The twin of Theseus, it seems to me ,
and I see the beautiful Ariadne threads,
spun clearly and with a helping heart
across a bridge made of glass.
At the other end of the world the light breaks in,
on the vast plains of unseen land
you stand, outside of all time,
in a sea of u200bu200bthin shards.
Behind you is your Rubicon,
before your eyes
a new
bridge made of glass.

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