Prison by Emmy Hennings
We pull ourselves toward Death with the cord of hope.
Ravens are envious of the prison yards.
Our never-kissed lips quiver.
Powerless solitude, you are magnificent.
The world lies outside there, life roars there.
There men are permitted to go where they like.
Once we also belonged to them.
And now we are forgotten and presumed dead.
At night, we dream of miracles on our plank-beds.
During the days, we move along like frightened animals.
We mournfully look out through the iron railing
And have nothing more to lose
Than the life God gave us.
Only Death lies in our hand.
The freedom no one can take from us:
To go into the unknown land.
All postings under the category “Homage to Dada and Surrealism” are for educational purposes and to inspire future artists.