W

Regarding 'friends adds'
To be added to the friends section one needs to be known to me personally, start and uphold decent contact or send a message with genuine meaning. Blatantly accepting everyone who clicks a button is considered ridiculous, and will therefore not be done.
*"The cold immortal stone lies bleeding,
softly panting on nourished ground
A song soothes the reaper sleeping
Leaving dreams, and nightmares profound
In ambush, silently anticipating, the dance of wicked flesh
Tears not aching, yet dawn covers the earth
Where night shall lay in waking
Breathe my leaves, breathe my soul and see
The bark encrusted jewellery, lost within the tree
My eyes linger, and yours have fallen dead
Tearing the skin from muscle
The heart basking, with grief cradled in her arms
The flesh from bone"

-beauty-
Prologue:    -Introduction to humanity and the loss of it-
Dear Someone,
You've stumbled upon a page written in dedication of a profound yet hidden sense of vanity. All that arrive here have come from the same house, the house ofmirrors and shame. I am because I fear to leave. I am because I hope to be. Some say I cannot cry, some merely believe I would not show, some have been worththe tears. Does this mean I am made of stone, or simply see things differently? I cannot know, and neither can you. All we are in this world is the simplecombination of reaction, experience and concequence. I do not believe in punishment, I believe in toll. I do not believe in power, I believe in chance.Whether to take, to seize or merely to acknowledge it's passing, is up to each one of us to decide for ourselves, and none can blame us for whatever choicewe make.
I believe every fate is justified. Some might say death is an inevitability, and would call it a curse or a blessing. Some would say death is not justifiedby man and would have it erased if the possibility should arrive. In my own views death is an option, to receive, to give, to take or to accept. We cannotcomprehend one's choice to leave or to take the life of an individual or a group. We merely have to let it be...concequence.
And when it all comes down to it, this is what I believe. I believe in concequence.
Chapter I:    -The walls of home and the garden of bereavement-
Since you are continuing to read this story, I will proceed with something more superficial. Maybe a form of understanding will hit you when these wordsscramble along in the back of your head and perhaps it is a correct understanding, although I sincerely doubt it.
I grew up in a secure environment. My family has always been trying to submerge in trust and connection, yet they have failed miserably in my eyes. Thishouse I live in is built on the foundation of communication and love. It's stones are painted with a fine layer of comfort and the roof protects us from thestorms of arguments, that sometimes relish within the hearts of beings close to each other. Where balance stood proudly to become a novelty of a modelsociety of personalities creating a structural environment, it shivered in coldness as all was disrupted by disease and the dying of flesh. After thedreadful years had passed and the ashes had found rest under the stone, life found itself moving towards a steady path once again. Ofcourse, I could onlywatch as their lives moved along side of mine, slowly diverting from a path I was creating for myself. All in all I would have to say the hearth is one manypeople would dream of warming themselves by it. I, however, have a coldness in my veins that cannot be warmed by the flames inside the hearts in this house,nor the sun in our garden. Where this coldness came from I do not know, but stone is to be stone, immortal yet alone.
Chapter II:    -Hymn-
As a being of both reason and emotion I am glad to find myself often submitting to the worlds created by virtues hands of more skilled individuals, as wellas being able to escape in the process of creating my own. These notes that appear on paper are of such beauty, yetthe feeling they leave in one's soul, one's state of being, can never be translated to words. This causes me to be with sadness ofcourse, as well as thecomfort of not having to lie, for all that I would say would be to no avail. Music is a thing which touches very intimate regions of a person's developement,and it grieves me to see that there are people who are willingly causing hurt to each other for the sake of argument. My choices vary from electronic pulsesgathering in my brain, to sharp distorted sounds while shrieking voices subdue their terror in my ears. Sometimes I'm even stricken with the fine solace ofquiet piano's, violins or opera.
Names, categories and labels are means of communication. We have created them to give a person the sense they can understand us a little bit better whentalking. Some people however, feel that they have to be limited to a certain group, because they want to be different. Wanting to be special, orextraordinary, is a desire most of humanity face. But still I would ask of you to be true only to the feelings you have when you hear something, and not tothe faces staring in the same direction as you are.
And I dare to say that to me, in some way, even Bach and Enslaved share it's similarities.
Chapter III:    -Divinity and the marvel of belief-
When it comes to religion I have to admit I combine both reason and belief, in a way which may seem of little logic to you. I am proud of my Germanic paganancestry. Some people would call it fascism, but I do not believe in the superiority of a race nor a religion. I do feel less affection for differentcultures and people of various races other than my own, because of the fact that I hail with honour from a far and distant past. Rationally I cannot saythere is an afterlife, although sometimes the faint hope of comfort strikes me when I gleam upon a dream of forefathers feasting in the æsir's goldenhall.
Both history and mythology of these, to most people forgotten, ways have captivated me and I can never let them go. I've tought myself to read and write ourancient futhark correctly, in both grammar and spelling, and am proud to use them where and when I can. Since only few people understand it however I have tospend the larger amount of my creations writing Roman letters.
The main reason I belief is also the one I would advice to people of any religion or way of life; to gather strength from one's own (so not from gods ordivine beings) and to relish in the hope that there maybe something left for us to discover. This is why I, sometimes, in times of need pray to Donar, whichin my own eyes is the pure sence of my inner strength.
There is no need for a metaphysical being watching over us.
Chapter IV:    -Poetry was the gift of ravens-
Some call it beauty, some lack the patience to read and some simply cannot be bothered. Poetry, in my case, has been subject of deformation, contest winningsand disillusioned interest. I cannot stress enough that I write for no-one. I do write tó some, and even about some, but never fór any person in particular.Many of the things you can, but probably will not, read on this profile have been selected randomly. They are not considered my best works by the 'generalpublic' nor are they personal favourites. You may find yourself wondering about deeper meanings or hidden messages, but these exist only in the reader'smind. I keep my thoughts to my own, although people who genuinely know me sometimes find little traces of confession among these words.
Below you can find two squares filled with the ramblings of a, in some eyes considered to be, madman. The top left is entitled 'A wistful soul's seeking' andcontains fourteen chapters written over various periods in time. This work is not yet, and will perhaps never be, finished but I will update it from time totime when I've written something new in the same storyline.
The second square, the top right, is entitled 'Poems written in Dutch' and will be hard to comprehensively read by people who do not master the language.
These are of course not all of my works, and not even my best considered by some (including myself), but as you, hopefully, noted previously, I selected themrandomly.
Needless to say I will not tolerate theft of anything found on my profile, for it is all written and copy righted by me.
-A wistful soul's seeking-

[Part I; This cold earth, July 2005]
Your doom has reached far, my sweet memorabilia
The sweet scent of your withered gifts shall ever purge my deadened heart with sulphur reekings
The angelic gold hair twirling around your face, dancing and screaming, yelling to besiege my loneliness
This hearth has warmed it’s last
Where is our moonrise now? To savour this sight of misanthropy’s victorious bleeding?
Our night has become starless, beloved, and I shall kiss you last
The wood stares with cold emotion, buying time to feel my closing light as I touch those frozen lips, made to scream mywords
This eye is lidless...
Your want has been my aggressive desire
Your lust my dreams
Hearts shall feel this cold earth my sweet flower...
My tears shall feed your river
We lay in memory
‘I greet the lonely few’
‘Silence, the clouds have not yet spoken’
‘Yet the mourning has come to pass’
‘Frozen shall be these teardrops, but not yet, please.., my requiem’
‘This evil shall pass at day, but seeks to hate, the blood, that has been shed’
The cold caress of vigilant stone
‘Read to me my your words, beloved...’
‘Her words shall die with silence’
‘As beauty has deceased’
Leave weeping warm and there is thy fate
Embrace your longing fire, before the stone is broken
‘Beware of darkness, my immortal’
[Part II; Her bidding red, July 2005]
Feel the earth’s morning caress when birds have broken dawn
The doorstep of your white dormancy lies open
Ebony greets your laughter
Sweet hymns, blissful dreams, venture lightly through the waves
The curling beauty of decay, a virtue for dismay
Just as your smile has shattered
Disguises from the realm of masks
Their blades have chosen targets
‘Leave my soulwound, gather senses at my grace’
She kisses lightly at their woe, a lifeless curse of saving
‘But tears have quenched not yet my thirst’
‘And death shall play his part’
As fate was lying in her bed, your hate fell on blooded knees
Yet kneeling was what she would see
Dressed in despair, black night, her hair
Gleaming gold in sun
I bask,
My tears the taste of bleeding
With hope, without, my path was winding
Angelic statue made of pure white ice
Soaking in a sea of lies my mind has spawned from grievance
I long for oceans of relinquishment
Draw the curtains, weariness
Bleed my heart so I may see
Your arrows made of ebony
Notched and shot in heart
‘Each night I weep again’
And never without loss...
[Part III; The flesh from bone, June 2006]
The cold immortal stone lies bleeding, softly panting on nourished ground
A song soothes the reaper sleeping
Leaving dreams, and nightmares profound
In ambush, silently anticipating, the dance of wicked flesh
Tears not aching, yet dawn covers the earth
Where night shall lay in waking
Breathe my leaves, breathe my soul and see
The bark encrusted jewelry, lost within the tree
My eyes linger, and your's have fallen dead
Tearing the skin from muscle
The heart basking, with grief cradled in her arms
The flesh from bone
'Pound the drums, so hear them calling
The graveyard dance of wicked souls'
Belief has resigned and bled away
Yet her eyes show diamant filling
Black engowned and still ringing
Tenor sweeping in the mind
The bed had been made
And dreams where to be given life
'Yet, as all stories unfold, shall the truth be known, be told'
'But in truth I lay still, confined in clear water and sea!'
'No deeper than a puddle we have enfold, so feel and weep, behold'
'I weep only of guilt and fear, where the latter resides only...'
'Then plead not Guilt, but follow and heed'
Free roaming horses, in the meadows long forgotten
Heaven stands silent
'Search not, the bleeding stone'
'Craving for, yet never alone'
'Reap content, the human mind, instinct, ignorant and blind'
Roots of wisdom in silver spring
Autumn tongues whisper and sing
'Your leaves are falling through breath of life
Your heart in war, battle and strife'
'Sleep my love, don't wish to see'
'These bloodshed visions shall, at long last, meet thee'
'Your eyes will never linger, never die'
'Forlorn thy crown!'
'Please, I beg from humble bleeding knees'
'Weeping and laughter, sibling blood!'
'I wish to see, to feel and weep'
'Stone is to be stone, immortal, yet alone...'
[Part IV; Sceptre foreboding, June 2006]
Again your sea bids me to drown
Drown and sleep, under a blanket of hopeless longing
These stars smile vigilantly
Burning the memoir written carefully, the blood hewn statue in the heart
No words to deliver messages, no eyes touch and no signs are set ablaze
Yet your stone is visited frequently
With beauty in my heart
‘Alive for passing, pass to live?
Or has she welcomed, the never dead?’
‘Sinful resting in my heart…’
‘No tears to come for what may be, see your sun and fall
Bask in the warmth and thrive’
‘Words of wisdom from silvery tongues…’
The gold mountains, the spring within the winter clearance
The evening star
‘Am I to be the faithful?’
‘An atheist with hands of God?
My smile, a grin with yellow teeth, lest it be a mocking one’
‘Wrongfully guessed and be riddled
Doubt shall lay warmly on my grave’
‘Now my eyes do see through shrouds
And yet this time I know we cannot sell absolution
Misgiving forever enthroned’
‘And only the sun can burn my eyes’
[Part V; Passed forgiving journeys, June 2006]
The crying of child breaking the dawn
Not every birth a blessing, yet this day a new fate
Her mother glancing to where no-one dies
The thoughts of bearing, a weight upon the shoulders
'This life, a merrit, a flaw?'
'Your life, your own, the other's awe'
'Cursed, bewitched, favoured child of the blind'
'Your mind can teach, your feelings do, now see'
The statuette of her wisdom, long passed forgiving journeys
The screaming yonder, yet a silent future is all she beholds
A gold ring on a broken finger
'In this kingdom no love can thrive, for all paths seem to darken'
'Darkness where you rest your eyes
Press onward or rejoice'
'My stove, a diner cooking, the most beautiful hands feed me'
'Oh, caged animal, you should gnaw on bars of steel
Lest you may favour her hands only with tender kisses
Never to bleed by blunt teeth'
'I succumb to my desire'
Her skin is my want
The touch of fingers on silk
Beauty may be, of what beauty could never dream
'Realisation my cruel mistress
I beg from thee, with hands folded, mercy and forgiveness
In sin, knee-deep, schackled by mistrust, my eyes drown
Forever burning, yearning, for the touch that soothes'
'Ha! Never will she whisper a word, never will she have heard
Your pity yelling for attention, breaking fever, sweating, crying
The mirth,
The mire,
You shall burn for what you are, and ash to you, a throne!'
Her eyes look with vivid longing
My eyes break and wonder
'Am I to be one besides me?'
A faint whisper full of fear;
'You could never ever see...'
[Part VI; Naught shall lay in paintings, November 2007]
Mist crept upon her stone where ravens wished for solace
Beneath verdant treetops
I shadow myself and hide my smile
'Sinful, you claim your joy to be?
You find fault within your deed?'
'No fault but caution and heed...'
'Ah, the flawless technique of stealing creeds
Leave this righteous path!
Leave this noble endeavour of saving souls
Humanity has betrayed what it has wrought
And your soul, remains savage’
The grey indoctrinating
All colours blend and succumb to the void
Where naught shall lay in paintings
But the population’s vision embroidered
‘So, you have learned to weave your own?
I see red upon your dagger…’
For long her eyes buried beneath the sand
Their colours matching
Like ebony and dusk they craved for each other
And I, with spade and ill wishes, happy to oblige
Pride and reason
Hand in hand joining the feast
All the deluded comprehension murdered
We drank her tears in silence
‘And no regret do I detect
You’ve toyed and played with filth
So you shadow yourself and hide the smile
Yet one desire remained all the while’
His face grinned and portrayed the guile
‘The emerald eyes of the eastern isles…’
She; on throne where man cannot see
Bringing hope where I can’t be
[Part VII; The eye of consequence, November 2007]
Cold the skin shakes to warm the body again
Futile attempts to create a flame where winter reigns dominantly
Ice shards fill a bleak vision
And the breath fails to fly freely
Where I expected silence the voices whispered
‘Until ashes, until dust and emptiness
Until the shaking stops
And the flowers are dropped on stone’
Their feet run, four soles pounding the same ground
Yet in different directions headed
Fear grips those not attending, the ones who delay until all else fails
Fear grips those concerning, the eye of consequence and doubt
Cold the skin shakes the body to convulsion
To vomit it’s ashes
To vomit it’s dust
To rinse it’s emptiness
Beyond the shards a picture fades
Forgotten where memories found nothing but the waste of happiness
The pleasure of the absence of guilt
‘Consequence shall leave me mourning
Consequence has left me to be…’
‘It has done nothing but given you solace
Where nothing else has ever been’
‘Lies from Doubt’s silver and weary tongue!’
‘No lies spring forth from her mouth,
She chews on uncertainty, and spits at you your fears
You crown something which shall be sitting next to empty thrones
For “you shall die alone”’
‘Her voice misplaced by your sedated heart’
‘No beats fill me and so no desire
I feel no harm that I wish to inflict
Just the cold shaking to relive these ashes
These ashes which once were your flames…’
Frost in eyes averted
The bones risk the stroke of matches
And light a flame to put in the sight
‘Light will not be for you to see through
And you should ask yourself the one question
Which Doubt has given you many times before’
The silence gives birth to the echo of thought
And I remain
Where finally the stones were to be written
Where worth had finally ceased to exist
The coin given to the beggar
His scythe cutting evening mists
‘And then her voice took your soul
The bells of love were yours to toll?
Look upon your chamber wall
Will you burn the candle to see her eyes,
Or to diminish your reflection?’
The skin has burned for her
It’s teeth still gnaw my flesh
‘And yet more and more you ask yourself
For whom do you burn your candles…?’
[Part VIII; The man who left, November 2007]
Only the sad and dismal music
No words to come and unveil half truths to me today
Just a perfect day of silence
Softly the tears drop from aeons passed
The mountains shiver coldly in their nakedness
And I fall, with my profound urges to sleep
In between these leaves, find me
Bare in skin and weeping
I am at peace and still I cannot be
Forever wished this sleeping
Autumn blushed and gazed at me
Her breathing dazed and worshiped me
She cloaked me, a warm blanket of solitude
Draped around my shoulders
These feet carried me for centuries
To stones where he lay sleeping
‘For the blood’ I whispered
Hands that were his touched the stone
And I closed my eyes and wept
All that was man flowed from the soul
All strength gone and forgotten
The moon powerless and a child crying at night
As you left that night before
I shall leave you again once more
Again the sad and dismal music
As I walk up unto that hill
To where I stand alone
[Part IX; A bright light between dark walls, January 2008]
The number nine, a sporadic emersion,
From a more profound yet hidden feeling
A bright light between dark walls
And the ink is without touch
'Your hands and tongue both made of silver
In speech, in writing and lustful plays
In enticement where screams fulfil the days
Oh and I shudder, I tremble with indulgement
I see that sad frown beneath your mask
I see the hate burning in your eyes
And I know that it consumes you...
What? No reprisal?
No words come from the one with silver tongue?
The one who's sentences profound and clever?
Hahahahaha...weakness! Weakness clouds you my friend
And the stench, the cold coffins and the stench of vanity...'
Does he hold your admiration?
Has he been crowned in imagination?
By some distant smiling friend,
Or by a love forgotten...
'I dreamt of you this night again
While pianos filled the room with blight
I awoke in sleep and said upright
This room of unknown beauty beyond compare
With candles and curtains, and flowers and trees
And a waterfall from out of the window
Which I followed to find the deepest seas
I found her regret and with tears in her eyes
She stood before me and spoke
'I've neglected the beating of your heart too often
And now all I hear are the echoeing cries...'
Echoes of cries they were, and echoes they shall be
For this graveyard is lonesome at night
I wander and wonder
Over paths of my past
And the future of yonder
And all I grieve; I grieve to see
For all I wish, is her's to be
The eastern sunset's beauty
As all I wish, is her's to be
'Oh her's to be...
You have become! Yet you do not believe
Slowly your solitude has become hatred
And only the gods hold your truth'
And you watch, you watch me
And you speak, you speak to me
In silence
Here I am, here I am for all of you
I smile an empty smile, for all of you
And now I drown, now I drown for all of you
[Part X; With blood in my eyes, February 2008]
In between the time which has passed,
The time yet to come
Aeons of lava, ages of darkness, seconds of light
An eternity of loneliness
He stands with blood in his eyes
To envision a future red
To pour flames over the remnants of past
"Lay down with the fallen children
Find fault within the hearts of yourself,
Given freely to do unto others
The raped, scarred skin of yourself"
Hark, a faint whisper to protect the wary;
"And I hate..."
Leave for the soles of feet to touch the sand
When struck down the hands will follow
And the silver lining of the mouth
Covered brown with precious earth
I take his hand to make him become
And safely walk within my mind
Never to return
The words mouthed capture, to make him wander
Calm, with purity and control
The anxiety of rage,
Wetting lips to kiss my prey
The taste of flesh lingering inside
And the wind gently sweeping
To slowly tilt and lift my chin
I hold my hands to catch the sun
And meet your gaze with blood in eye
[Part XI; Rozes frozen, February 2008]
Behold their mourning
In the garden of snow
Where the roses frozen
Withered in the footsteps of winter
Behold my fire
Ablaze in a castle of diamond thought
Where the roses frozen
Still quiver, nakedly under my cold touch
Dipping pen in black ink
Writing words to make you faint
My voice forcing you to kneel
Before lies and filth and all you crave
Your black hair of silken beauty
And green eyes of emerald skin
You kiss my ring and yet I feel no desire
In between these walls, your softest mattress
Filled with silver feathers and angel wings
Shall be of dream and fantasy
For the splendor of your body shall sire
Naught but the cold ground underneath me
Until ages forgotten I will be enthroned
And look down upon you
Always your King, yet never your lover
[Part XII; In ice and stone, March 2008]
The truth is this;
To become and be solemn anew
To unsheathe the ravage of my sword
And kill all but a few
It is as the past would dictate the future
Regret to form and hold all but one
Where voices of denial and contradiction
No longer form stars and moon and sun
But are gripped firmly in the hilt of one's blade
And together whisper with strength;
'For all, the blood would come late'
With him I stand, in ice and stone
And never fail to forget that we stand alone
For I am he who will forever be
The one you have never ever truly seen
[Part XIII; Land and sea hold sky and stars for me, March 2008]
It came with the yellow hue of the flame
And would change my life forever
Nevermore would I sit still and gaze into the sky without at least one thought
Of the kiss I failed to sire in grace but led us into that place I sought
‘Seek again these flames of naught…
Oh yes I have returned, what did you think?
Honestly, you’d think I would depart that easily?
Without a violent play in twilight to lead to our destruction?
You make me smile my puppet
Where they felt feet to tickle and make you smile, I saw your true demise
Your hooves and horns, your crooked teeth and wicked tongue
Your doubt to be the only thing not analysed’
Now I wrong myself in the name of thee
I kiss and play and dream of us to be
More away from them and more close to me
‘Where two made love were always three…’
He wets his lips and thinks of you
His fire and flame he bids to you
As I hang my head and know I cannot do
A thing to make the land and sea hold the sky and stars for me
And even if I could
I’d give them to you…
[Part XIV; These boots of melancholy, April 2008]
Still weak from the perishing night
Grown from fire to hate the light and all that I held in awe
Mistress of sleep hammering down during reign of the day
“Oh pity, pity, pity…
Should I comfort you or let you be?
These boots fit perfectly and you are used to walking
So walk again in melancholy
Be what you are used to be, without this soul you used to see
For once, and one time only I’ll give you council
Not through vice but with genuine heart
Look up at night, and see not one
But many stars, and all would they from you depart
Sorrow will be with you both, and both will see the light again
Both will know this had to end
And both will grieve and wish to see
Yet all you can is just to be or not to be”
Gleam upon the silver standing in the corner
And take up arms to seal your fate
‘Je valt, maar niemand kan je doden’
[To be continued...]

-Poems written in Dutch-

[Hars in mijn aderen, September 2007]
Hier sta ik, in het volle aanzicht van de zon
De wijsheid der bomen als hars in mijn aderen
Het gras groeit over mijn armen als huid
En de lucht is mijn adem
Ik wierp de sterren in het hulst van de nacht
De eenzaamheid verwerpend
Ik huilde zeeën en zwom lachend door tranen
In gelukzaligheid verdrinkend
Kracht is mijn kennis
Mijn goden mijn trots
Vliegend met raven, slapend met steen
Rennend met wolven
En tot ieder spreek ik;
Ik val, maar niemand kan me doden
[De herinnering van pijn, December 2004]
Één traan die valt, verdwaald, verlaten
Over een masker vol met pijn
Gekweld door herinneringen gehate
En al dat nooit meer zal zijn
Dan spreken woorden opeens door harten
Ooit verloren nu niet meer
Maar waar hij denkt speelt twijfel parten
En doet zijn geest nog altijd zeer
Zijn de woorden voor hem geschreven
Het masker breekt en valt verloren
Op koude en gekwelde grond
De bodem van zijn ziel gevuld met afscheidskoren
Die wachten tot de morgenstond
Zodat ook zij hem kunnen verlaten
En de liefde hem kan baten
Zijn de zinnen voor hem gemaakt
Waar twijfel valt, gebroken door pijn
Daar schreeuwen koren om de doden
De mensen die er niet meer zijn
Maar de ogen waar hij door zal zien
Zijn vernieuwd door heldere lichten
Die steeds meer vragen om een antwoord
Waarover hij alleen twijfelend kan dichten
Twijfelend en verward, verdronken in een meer van tranen
Nooit vergeten honderden manen
Zijn de zinnen voor hem gemaakt
Zijn de woorden voor hem geschreven
Of is het twijfel die hem weer radbraakt
En zijn emotie, overdreven…
[Een troef voor handen, Augustus 2006]
De wereld valt en het enige wat je kunt is lachen
Waarom ben je zo harteloos?
Waarom heb je geen gevoel?
Is alles wat je ziet een leugen?
Is alles zonder doel?
Je kijkt en verdient het niet te leven
Je zoekt en vindt alleen maar pijn
Liefde van degene die je het niet kunnen geven
Zwarte ruis in gouden oren
Ik luister maar hoor niets
Hoe zou het zijn om doof te zijn?
Om niets te zien?
Mijn ogen zijn jouw leugens
En alles wat ik zie ben jij
Hoe heerlijk om te dansen
Zonder beperking of begrenzing
Gewoon heerlijk de muziek in je haren laten spelen
En de wind je lege oogkassen laten vullen
Je tranen al eeuwen geleden opgedroogd
En alles wat je doet
Is het kopen van een ziel
[Spiegel, datum onbekend]
Het voelt alsof je in een spiegel bent gekropen
Als of ik je alleen aan kan raken terwijl mijn eigen hand omhoog klimt langs de kou
Vroeger konden we nog huilen in elkaars armen
Nu vallen de tranen in spiegelbeeld, tegelijk, maar niet naast elkaar
Dit is de werkelijke eenzaamheid
Dit zijn mijn ogen die je nooit meer kunt zien knipperen
Als ik ze sluit doe jij dat ook
Als ik lach, lach jij ook
Maar aanraken doe ik je niet
Ik kan het niet meer
Jammer dat je gebarsten bent, je was een mooie spiegel
Misschien moet ik voortaan alleen nog maar naar mijn handen kijken...
[Verloren lach, Juli 2006]
Een hand van vlees en een hand van steen
De aanraking van twee zielen
Verbonden door de zon en zee
Met ogen van bloed en glas
Hand in hand, gebroken en versterkt
De botten knarsen en tanden bleken
En iedere slag onopgemerkt
Vereeuwigd door hetgeen bespot
Waarheid, leugen en hout dat rot
Een kist verteerd, gemaakt van vlees?
Steen en bloed nooit één geweest
En de maan maakt van de dag
De schaduw van een verloren lach...
[Waar wij het schimmenspel waarnamen, December 2004]
Dat licht weerkaatste alsof wij nooit gekeken hadden
En danste vrolijk in het rond
Maar wij waren wel degelijk op de hoogte
Van al dat gebeurde op het doek
De kaarsen speelde de zoete tranen
Over een bord van glanzend ijs
Niet koud als steen maar warm hun tranen
Lerend vielen ze spelenderwijs
En daar waar hun schaduwen lachten
Een vreselijk schel en hard geluid
Daar dichten zinnen over straten
Waar niemand zich meer in verschuilt
En dus blijven woorden onverschoten
Op dit speelbord van de tijd
En als niemand wapens pakt en durft te vechten
Wie wint dan deze dromenstrijd?
Koude harten verloren in het galmen van de klok
Wiens echo slaat dertien keer, één keer te vaak
Net als de kaarsen die nog huilen
Na twaalf uur branden, één uur verloren is hun taak
Daar waar tijd eindeloos lijkt
Waar liefde meer dan vervulling van eenzaamheid blijkt
Waar schaduwen dansen, en licht alleen speelt
Daar vallen de tranen over zoete tapijten
Gemaakt door zachte woorden, over ruw grind verdeeld
Waar de armen van schaduwen door elkaar vielen
En verbonden als enkelvoud van zielen
Werden geslagen door de fouten van tijd
Raken twee zielen nooit meer de eeuwigheid kwijt
Daar waar de tijd bestaat zonder ramen
Daar waar de tijd eindeloos lijkt
Waar wij het schimmenspel waarnamen…

Chapter V:    -A proclamation to arise-
The society these flesh vessels dwell in, is per definition and by the voice of the good hearted and virtuous, egalitarian. "Audi, vide, tace, si tu visvivere", bah! No longer does this apply. However, the same society is placed in a bigger issue of mankind, namely time. In this context I like to refer to itas our century. Yes.., this 'century' is one of ambition, of succes and proving oneself. A unified goal has not found fruition, so man makes it's futileattempt to better himself by developing the use of coinage and social endeavour. Personally, and this is mostly vice in the eyes of the aforementioned, Ihave grown sick of tolerance, nay, of meekness. Those 'who would eventually inherit the earth' are not true to themselves, and cannot aspire to a greaterform of existence. They, those who lack to make distinction between the absense of tolerance and the presence of ignorance, should be trampled like the antsthey represent. But of course, they have value amongst other lowly individuals, amongst their kin, their beloved ones. Yet as long as they, who are confinedto a nameless void, have no meaning or sense of existence in my life, they might as well be placed in the same place as those small critters squirming thegrounds; beneath my feet.
Now I know that this all sounds bitterly cruel and I apologise. Indeed ants have evolved in ways which are unpathomable to us, and I should not compare thosemagnificent beings of Gaia (as those oddworldy philosophers have named her beautifully aeons ago), to those lowly worms who have astrayed too far from animalinstinct to be held in regard to the former, and offer too less wisdom or insight to become counted to those who know 'mankind' is a term no right mindedindividual would want to call themselves part of...
"Imperare sibi maximum imperium est" -Seneca
Chapter VI:    -Speak your words in truth and with beauty-
Though continually shown the contrary, I can still hardly believe the rudeness and ambiguity of the social endeavours of some people when anonymity seemstheir greatest merit. As far as I know my knowledge to be vast, and as quickly as I would doubt the vastness of my knowledge, one thing is portrayed the sameon each continent, in each culture. Whereas there are different values between individuals, countries or even continents, the virtue of a submissive approachand a depiction of a respectable nature is found to be inherent in all living things. Man has giving this meaning more so, hence my amazement when beinginvited to converse via digital ways. When I see that these beings have found the way to my digital domain, sought a path to establish themselves on the faceof the virtual world in a comparable manner, and still do not comprehend the slightest of the basic grammatical and social rules, I can only think of them asdisposable. For I do put a value to using words and respect in a profound and genuine way, and regard you to uphold the same laws when treading to unknownplaces. The times when the lack of caution resulted in the loss of one’s life have ended, yet if it were up to me, I’d usher in a dreadful and utterlymemorable punishment.
Approach me carefully and you may spark my interest. If so, I will genuinely reply. If you seek to come at me with words worth only one picture in achildren’s booklet (one you should have outgrown more than thirteen years ago), you will be treated in a fashion I deem fitting. You have been presaged.
Epilogue:    -Aftertaste-
It seems you have made it through to a certain type of ending. Maybe we will meet someday, maybe we will even share a laugh or two. In any case I wouldappreciate a comment left.
With sincere and distinct emptiness,
-W.
*"Roots of wisdom in silver spring
Autumn tongues whisper and sing
'Your leaves are falling through breath of life
Your heart in war, battle and strife'
'Sleep my love, don't wish to see'
'These bloodshed visions shall, at long last, meet thee'
'Your eyes will never linger, never die'
'Forlorn thy crown!'
'Please, I beg from humble bleeding knees'
'Weeping and laughter, sibling blood!'
'I wish to see, to feel and weep'
'Stone is to be stone, immortal, yet alone...'"

* Short excerpt from 'The flesh from bone' by Willem Maessen
Ik ben
Ik ben de kracht van de dood, de stilte van het leven
Vergeten in de wakkere wereld, ik kijk neer op zij die slapen, en kan hen het niet vergeven
Ik ben een ster met het licht uit de hemel
Ik ben de traan in het hulst van de nacht
En de maan die klaar is met denken, en niets meer verwacht
Ik zing de liederen wanneer je sterft
Een koude, kille grafzang
Men zal staren en hun hoop doen varen
Maar de kracht van je leven is vergeten
En deze slaap is niet je eerste
Ik ben haat en treur