IN MY DREAMS

My dreams answer so quietly, almost insinuately, and are entangled in a web of memories by tactful silence, searching for a missed greeting, a deliberate handshake, the weight-meaning-of the unspoken words, which one Foolish-loving heart-chalice confesses to another in a dreaded worldly hour.

The preserved cave-deep of The Hangman's time still deliberately hides its own manipulative, petty little plans; sooner or later, man will find out that the much-tolerated stigma - past all had a causal meaning.

...Here stands a shipwrecked soul, who gave much, and could not gain much in return; his vulnerable soul was opened to whom it was fitting, and while the great pretense was taking place, the superstitious Lady betrayed him, for he was poor and miserable. I wonder what will be inherited from this postmodern, absurd hyena-age, which the average may never have mercy, and the man whom they trample. Take care of my cherished dreams and memories! You realize, what if?"and," everything is ruined!"how true his conscious feeling is-he is gambling fake gambling in this now manipulated World.

Crinkle-faced, convulsive-afraid, feeble, despicable Phantom of my sorrowful nights! - That was the age! When Sophisticated Ladies knew the prescribed rules of etiquette, and their golden, tinkling souls melted, if they could listen to Beethoven or Chopin! It was enough to confess love with poems, instead of tinsel and tinsel, and even Angels could go to heaven with their puffs.