Inside of us

Inside of us

Withered away,
I wait for life to grow again,
but the green stems break,
in my frightened hands.

The black shadows speak,
their toxic words in pink colors,
to hide the lies from my fragile heart,
until the truth vanishes out of sight.

Screams of pain fill the sky,
but a blue blanket represents the silence.
The louder I scream,
the greater is the silence.
So I have to become calm,
in order to find peace.

Memories engraved in stone,
are written on the walls of my heart.
Portrayed on parchment paper,
they are shaped into hundreds of poems.

Looking back at the past,
invites me to learn lessons,
to celebrate new hope,
illuminating my soul,
in millions of colors.

When Heaven remains silent,
lessons we have already learned,
become the indicators on our journey of life,
and growth appears inside of us.

Inside of us

A Flower of Hope

 

 

 

 

A Flower of Hope

Through the rocks,
of earthy ashes,
grows new life,
that gives us hope.
To wipe the tears,
through deep suffering,
from innocent children,
of God the Father.

Without a thought,
the rocks were broken,
leaving the pieces,
of worthy crystals,
out in the open.
Washed away,
by the cold icy rain.
Nobody saw,
too little cared,
and now it flutters,
into oblivion.

Yet God left a sign,
for the world to see,
the worthy lives,
of His loving people.
There in the rocks,
of the oblivion,
grows a flower,
to give us hope,
of a new,
and better life.

 

Tears of Hope

Tears of Hope

 The green of hope,
covered in the night,
shapes His love,
into a lam.
Allowing His blood,
to touch the earth,
but the mere drops,
do not compare,
His chosen sacrifice.

My broken heart,
catches the tears,
of His innocence.
But my hands are tight.
So in a cloak,
made of grief,
I give Him my love,
the strength He needs,
the support He longs for.

His tears I bring,
to a special place,
build in eternity.
There I plant it,
like a mustard seed,
to turn the sacrifice,
into a brand new tree.

A tree of life,
that brings,
new hope.

Memories (in 2 languages)

Memories (English)

Underneath the blue sky,
pink blossoms blow in the wind.
Entrained with the music,
they bring you to unfamiliar places,
until the wind blows them away,
and they remain a mere memory.

Colors grow in the spring,
to dress the summer in a feast.
Scents emerge,
and make the cold air disappear,
like snow in the sun.
For a moment, Heaven feels all around you.
For a moment, you forget the winter.

When autumn arrives,
and life makes the leaves fall from the trees,
there is only a memory left.
Staggering at the abyss,
you hold tight to what you know –
stored in the chambers of your heart.
But they have evaporated in the sunshine.

Then when winter begins,
and the harsh cold covers the earth,
the white flowers force themselves a way out.
The beauty of the snowdrop flowers,
allows the light to penetrate into the darkness.
The cold is silent and the darkness disappears.

The light of the Father,
that paves a way through nature,
like a springing fountain,
nestles himself deep within the heart,
and form a new memory.
Relying on the memories,
the small child learns to walk,
at the hand of the Father.

 

Herinneringen (Dutch, the original version)

Onder de blauwe hemel,
verwaaien de roze bloesems in de wind.
Meevoerend op de muziek,
voeren ze je naar onbekende oorden,
totdat de wind ze wegvaagt,
en ze slechts een herinnering zijn.

In de lente groeien kleuren,
om de zomer te kleden in feest.
Geuren rijzen op,
en laten de koude lucht verdwijnen,
als sneeuw voor de zon.
Heel even waan je, je in de hemel.
Heel even vergeet je de winter.

Maar als de herfst aanbreekt,
en het leven de bladeren van de bomen laat vallen,
is er slechts een herinnering over.
Wankelend aan de afgrond,
klamp je, je vast aan wat je weet,
opgeslagen in de kamers van je hart.
Maar ze zijn verdampt in de zon.

Dan als de winter aanbreekt,
en de gure kou de aarde bedekt,
dwingen zich de witte bloemen een weg naar buiten.
De schoonheid van de sneeuwklokken,
laten het Licht doordringen in het duister.
De kou zwijgt en het duister verdwijnt.

Het licht van de Vader,
dat als een springende fontein,
zich een weg door de natuur baant,
nestelt zich diep in het hart,
en vormen een nieuwe herinnering.
Bouwend op de herinneringen,
leert het kleine kind te lopen,
aan de hand van de Vader.

 

A Lost Generation

A lost generation

The old eyes look at me,
telling me the many stories,
of a long-gone past.
Their wrinkles give me,
a cup with wrung-out tears.
And their thin grey hair,
whisper the secret wisdom.
I wish the walls had ears.

Time is running out,
but your excellent politeness,
waves your loneliness away.
Your heart is focused solemnly on love.
For this fast-paced life is too quick.
Your heart cannot keep up,
and your memory loses the battle.
I wish the world would slow down.

An orphan are you,
left by those who carry your heart,
leaving your old soul,
with many paper-wrapped excuses,
yet your love does not wither away,
and your mouth speaks,
your wise understanding.
I wish the blind eyes could see you.

My heart holds the old eyes,
and my eyes shed the tears,
for a lost generation.