EVERY EVENING I THROW.

 Another poem by Erich Mulsham

Every evening I throw

Every evening I throw
a future behind me
that will never arise anymore
since it lived in the spirit.
New images will grow;
worlds turn on new axis,
will die, love, create.
The pasts gape. –
Rioting, whirling time pitches
in the grave. – Life screams! 

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