Death is not the end, they say
But I, standing in a deep dark hole
I dare ask
if maybe the end comes before death
dark and intriguing questions
asked all winter long during cold nights
No answers in these ruins built upon
ancient myths and legends
no more songs to be sung by old men
This ivory tower has collapsed to nothing more
than a well

Death is not the end, they say
I dare to think: maybe destruction is
and at the same moment
I am collecting pieces to build
a new – my own tower
where I shall think
where I shall write my stories
where I shall find protection
in deep winter nights

[Das nennt man dann wohl user corrected poetry. Dankeschön Charel, Thierry, green_wasabi und sara!]