Pain, PAIN PAIN!!!!We'll do it all
Everything
On our own

We don't need
Anything
Or anyone

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel

Those three words
Are said too much
They're not enough

i will dedicate and sacrifice my everything for just a seconds worth of how my story's ending. and i wish i could know if the directions that i take and all the choices that i make won't end up all for nothing.

show me what it's for. make me understand it. i've been crawling in the dark looking for the answer. is there something more than what i've been handed? i've been crawling in the dark looking for the answer.

I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

help me carry on. assure me it's ok to use my heart and not my eyes to navigate the darkness. will the ending be ever coming suddenly? will i ever get to see the ending to my story?

so when and how will i know?..................
how much further do i have to go? how much longer until i finally know? because i'm looking and i just can't see what's in front of me, in front of me!

I loved you so, Why can't anybody love me?

Yesterday, I was happy. I was more happy then I had ever been. I was loved, And I could love in return.

Now, I have nothing. Nothing at all. And my life feels as if it died a silent dead. If I go today, please don't think it was stupid of me to do so...

--"Learn as if you would live forever, live as if you would die tomorrow."-- Gandhi (1869 - 1948)

I gazed, I gaze more often. Into blue puddles of stories, and thoughts. As if they are deeper then an ocean, yet wild on the surface, and calm on the inside. The Gaze, as if it could last longer then a day, as if it takes longer, then moments are meant to be. Like a tidlewave that doesn't stop, and as we stand into the see, where the waves break into the sands, and the waves don’t stop.

They push us forward

The gushing of water, that pushes us all the way upon the land, and beyond. Beyond the dunes, beyond the hotels, beyond the plains, through the forests. The look gazes further, tumbling my head. As I hold her. Gently,

as can be, cause so tender, meirly there because she decided so out of free will. Not even picking my hand, free as a bird. But her claws so sharp, that when she would fly away, I'd cut my hand. And so aswell, when my hold becomes to tight. A beautiful white dove, with feathers so beautiful, they resembled peace in countries. But so easily soothed, one stain, colours the entire bird.

I Cannot Control the flight of the birds, nor the change of weather, or the events in days... Viva aeternus
Cause tomorrow, they day that lies in the future, and we do not know. Where are choices are yet to be made, and where we can perhaps not choose to love... Tomorrow never dies,

But when so, And that choice might fade out...
I hope tomorrow never comes.

Frederik Kerling

Once upon a time in a country far far away, there lived, in the mighty kingdom of Radboud, a beautiful mathematician and a strong physicist. They hadn’t met before, since their regions where far apart. As the mathematician lived all the way up, in the high mountains of the third floor, far away in the utmost east corner of the kingdom. Together with her fellow companions, supplying the kingdom with a great amount of complex literacy and magical matrices. But the physicist on the other hand, live all the way down, in the lower valley of the west plains. At the other end of the kingdom. Also called the Wild West, for its falling debris and metal sounds that resonated over the planes. Here he lived sporadically, but mostly because this was where his primary source of food could be found, beer and toasted sandwiches.
These two so different people would live apart from each other, hardly aware of each others existence, for days and days on end. And this lovely story would have never unfolded if it weren’t for the existence of the lords of the real numbers. These three lords, who were part of the senate governing, called the two unlikely regions together so once every week to discuss how all of the work is doing in the regions. Now was neither the Mathematician nor the physicist a hard worker. They did however had admirable social skills setting them out on whatever public meeting there was. Yet under the lord of Van de Essen, they didn’t notice one another. It was only during the continues reign of Lord Steenbrink, and Lord Bosma, that the meetings became so complex. Both the two were send out of the kingdom to explore the vast outlands of the region of Nijmegen. And it was this where they so magically met…
It was a sunny day, when the fully packed physicist and the beautiful mathematician where send out towards the great mean hall. The hall itself, the center of the kingdom was great, the great window stretching up so high, that the upper windows where never even touched by man. And so it was said that the windows where places by great metal monsters. The same that where threatening the western Borders. In this great hall, the great wise Foucault showed them, every day again, that the earth beneath them was moving, revolting in the vast continuum of space. At the gates, which never were open, but instead, three large doors would make sure people could get in and out at the same time. So no invaders of the other duchies could get in. Yes, a fierce civil war was ever present between Alfa’s Beta’s and the less know Gamma’s. But it was this great hall where the two would meet. As both had an idea of setting up an embassy in the other world in name of their kingdom. Later to be known as Beethovenstraat 37.
Here the two met, when the mathematician was preparing herself with the inhaling of stress relieving traditional medicine, and the physicist was trying to stay awake after a long night of walking the plains. It was here where they introduced. And it was here, at the gates of their kingdom, just a step away from the complete unknown and wild freedom that the two met.
They had the faint idea of each others names. But as they left for the world, they would have been known by the kingdom as 0610178 and 0616397.

Is the future predictable? I’d deceive who I am if I said it weren’t. And thus, alike Nostradamus I look at my own poetry, one very special as I see it now. And, though it wasn’t written with any such intent, it was written out of thought of two people, who after that day, would literally make up the life I live. And would simply be whatever I needed ever. Don’t let Gollem mix you up:

No sensible title here really

Gollem uit turkije ( niet in)

Uit het oog, Uit het hart
In het oog, In het hart,
De dood danst met hij die niet weten wilt

zij, haar, zij wordt door
     hem       gekaapt

Precious, Precious speelt
hij met het uitzinnige vuur

Precious als zij is tot mij
zijn haar groene ogen
mijn inzinnige hart.

So really, I will explain my first poem ever made, and make you decide what it means.
The first paragraph, refers to the first person I talked about earlier, whose seemingly simple and basic look at life, made my complex ones land on the ground on several occasions. And can quite literally see straight through me sometimes. And Only with her, I never had the urge to try if I could beat it. I like it the way it is.
The second paragraph, was there to represent the second person, and those few words, unknowingly were to represent repeatedly what happened to her and me in the coming years after I wrote it. As I read them now, it was probably writing these words, until the moment of understanding their purpose and realizing what they did, that ever, ever gave me love, as love is something of understanding what it is, but really. It is just love that you feel. Not alike any other understanding, and thus, different.
The Third, more concerns her. I now am used to making such accusations about someone else’s future, because when I write such a poem. (I wrote this one on a balcony during a thunderstorm in Italy, the Urge of writing had become to great) It usually means something of knowledge I have not yet come to comprehend. But then, I couldn’t have guessed, that so many he’s would fail to see, that referred in the last paragraph.
As the last paragraph, is really the first and only true realization, ever made by me, that can somewhat, or just closely describe that one feeling, that one feeling, That is the most intense, when it comes, and when it is gone. Because, You don’t know what you got till it’s gone. And she never was mine, For me, or us, she was always gone… So in those years, Which by now must be more then a thousand, I knew exactly what I had, day in day out. Love.
And I think that is basically all there is to this poem. A precognition of what love was ever going to be.
So
I thank these two people, for being there for me,
For being there when I needed them,
And for teaching me, and showing me really, what the most important things in life are.
And what no wise person, no teacher and no one else, could have ever told me. Without him not understanding it himself. Even though, one of the two might still not quite comprehend.
Thank you Wytz, Thank you Pei.

I didn’t see, I didn’t even notice. The reason why I felt clogged all of the sudden are all but too apparent to me.
A dark cloud, pitch black, like a perfect black hole, surrounds my head. Darkening my complexion, opening up my head once more. The feeling cuts through marrow, and my chest, leaving a deep mark. My first cut, as I did that what I hated for all my life, now no longer I can be oblivious for it.
My tears, my tears, I like pearls of acid, falling on my legs, hurting with everything they stand for. Hurting for fuck sake what I have done. And how twisted my head must be, that I even see this as a moment to learn, a moment of revelation, of finally understanding why. I hope I never have to do this again. Someone should kick my ass, or at least my balls.

I have to Thank Miffi. (ad mare)

I disgust this past, of what even wisdom can put a man to, of Irony, of hatred, and of silly combining the two, with a lonesome past. With a stupid moment of understanding. For not having to say sorry, to anyone except the one I Thanked. But the only justification I can address is my own ignorance, as was told to me, so much earlier before. Ignorance is NO bliss, not for me. Even if I attempted this once. How wrong all the women are, for saying they will turn my head crazy, and the one, that doesn’t tell me, makes me do things who are not even addressable to craziness. I am so sorry.

And no water cleans my hands in innocence. No past blames, or future condemns will ever heal me here. I am truly Librio, I am Good, but Evil just as well, and to an extend both will exceed anyone’s imagination.

Thank thee, thank thou calmth, thank thou charm, thank though past. Thank though existence.

As a fist grabs my sword, which can do horrible things, but now, can only do good really.
As my dreams, chop off ones head doing these things. But I cannot cut myself. My arms are too short. My fists can’t do good today…

They can only hit, the lack of understanding, that now lies, in the distant past.

To Miffi.

I didn’t see, I didn’t even notice. The reason why I felt clogged all of the sudden are all but too apparent to me.
A dark cloud, pitch black, like a perfect black hole, surrounds my head. Darkening my complexion, opening up my head once more. The feeling cuts through marrow, and my chest, leaving a deep mark. My first cut, as I did that what I hated for all my life, now no longer I can be oblivious for it.
My tears, my tears, I like pearls of acid, falling on my legs, hurting with everything they stand for. Hurting for fuck sake what I have done. And how twisted my head must be, that I even see this as a moment to learn, a moment of revelation, of finally understanding why. I hope I never have to do this again. Someone should kick my ass, or at least my balls.

I have to Thank Miffi. (ad mare)

I disgust this past, of what even wisdom can put a man to, of Irony, of hatred, and of silly combining the two, with a lonesome past. With a stupid moment of understanding. For not having to say sorry, to anyone except the one I Thanked. But the only justification I can address is my own ignorance, as was told to me, so much earlier before. Ignorance is NO bliss, not for me. Even if I attempted this once. How wrong all the women are, for saying they will turn my head crazy, and the one, that doesn’t tell me, makes me do things who are not even addressable to craziness. I am so sorry.

And no water cleans my hands in innocence. No past blames, or future condemns will ever heal me here. I am truly Librio, I am Good, but Evil just as well, and to an extend both will exceed anyone’s imagination.

Thank thee, thank thou calmth, thank thou charm, thank though past. Thank though existence.

As a fist grabs my sword, which can do horrible things, but now, can only do good really.
As my dreams, chop off ones head doing these things. But I cannot cut myself. My arms are too short. My fists can’t do good today…

They can only hit, the lack of understanding, that now lies, in the distant past.

To Miffi.