The last minutes of Lutero | final version

Over these pages written in wax
I troubled early mornings, night watches,
relapses, hidden senility.
Among drops I recognize words
embarrassing lonliness
unacceptable boredom:
what I’ve written is still straw, retained
darkness
convulsive prayers brooded over
in the looks for refused offers.
I hide myself to the world not to bore it
I hide my shame
playing draughts
there’s only one thing I’m certain of:
I, who deeply sinned
But even more deeply did believe
I remain a beggar asking for God