The City Poem by Eberhard Arnold

The city: a maelstrom
of frenzied crowds.
Roaming hordes
beneath gray clouds.

Inhabitants distant,
though bodily pressed.
Streets without stars:
God has left.

Souls emptied of love,
a life-sucking sea.
Death-bringing marriages,
dull misery.

Slow-moving death,
creeping, then still.
Depravity, boredom,
another tired thrill.

Loathing for life,
despite all the glitter.
Bloody vines’ drunken
torment bitter.

Twisted faces.
Oppression’s breath.
Dimming lights.
The city is death.

If only renewal –
now so far away –
with holy force
could take hold today!

Let loose the tempest!
Atmospheres, break!
You prophets, arise!
Spirits, awake!