The Middle Class

Over cities and villages
I scattered the seething fire
Raging in the cells of my brain.
And then in a cool moment
I returned to my room
And wearily looked for the wick of my lamp
In utter darkness and stared
With empty eyes at my rat hole;
And I muttered to myself:
Let him who wanted to go, depart,
Let us hold on even to this life-in-death.
I belonged to the hollow strawmen,
the middle class.