The Tower
This article was originally published in German. The English version is an automatic translation and may contain errors. The German original is authoritative.
At the edge of the field he stands,
the stone tower.
He stands there in the distance and,
thwarts my plans.
Every morning he gazes into my window.
Mutual staring,
one of flesh,
one of stone.
Every midday he lures me into the unfamiliar,
wants what is strange to become familiar to me,
wants powerlessness to become movement.
My comfort zone – restlessness,
yet he seduces me into routine.
He tries at least,
gives me uniformity.
Step by step,
round after round.
With each day it becomes easier,
fear falls away,
distance falls away.
Every evening he stands there,
the iron tower.
Lures me,
seduces me,
gives me back the lost momentum.