WOLF TRAPS IN NOMAN'S LAND

 Man would now hold the uncertain Infinity between his clenched tiger teeth, gnashing his teeth; heavenly powers have not yet decided his fate, whether he will remain a plucked baby bird or an orphan Robinson Crusoe.

 Viper nests are now home to hissing, rubbed snakes that can be manipulated - apparently -, flattering themselves everywhere, beautifying themselves; the future's conscious-certain garbage dump - perhaps - is only an arm's length away. Man would hesitantly walk along the path of great unknown distances, tireless, like an orphan born by his mother, responsible for his own selfish life, like a wandering convict hanging on a prison chain.

 The memories experienced also seem like broken teeth, to which - once - man could still cling faithfully and willingly; Above the cold vice of everyday life, the old, blue horizon seems like a nuclear mushroom cloud. The wolf traps still gape in No Man's Land and there is no safe way out. 

Now, even the useless man has been degraded into an exploitable tool-scum, in the hands of bankers, lawyers, strawman businessmen, who dictate individual rules of the game and turn their own profits around, while they do not even consider others as human beings, psychological, inner virtues cannot be redeemed with fat-backed money - like a wildly alien domineering shadow, first only spiritual, then physical pain leans over man. 

And like a parabolic curve left over from the afterlife, Existence can waste away on the edge of the peripheral regions; man sits hesitantly in the Universe that smells of lack, and perhaps no longer seeks or researches its individual solutions. Because their selfish emotions are increasingly stumbling geometries; fewer and fewer people want to find the treasure-trash that will last forever in each other.