Autumn On Manhattan Poem by Hans Promwell

I hear the trees breat
and people's moding tived with loneliness.
Everything that we feel will ever disappear-
says friend of my childhood Dean Lamberth
and points up the bear bottle to the sky.
he is phatalist and likes speaking with metaphors,
especially after leaving him his girlfriend
he is without love and warmth.

Without love Autumn is boring on Manhattan,
when one cant see Hollywood dreams,
but see obviously tortured lonely people
in transport, in parks and cheap bars
where they go to forget their own unbearable life.
They are left and forgotten.
They have no hope,
thinking about suicide every night.
Where have disappered their aims and ambitions.
Does everything we feel will really vanish?

I dont know how everything began
but believe it will finish badly.