When the heart burns

When the heart burns

Every step I take,
my empty heart burns,
like a forest on fire.
Trying to rescue life,
in all its forms,
I make a decision,
to fight.

The sun on the horizon,
promises me hope,
but how can I believe,
in a new land,
when the old one,
is still burning?

Letting go of sorrow,
feels like the end,
of my very last breath,
overwhelming me with fear,
until I decide,
to breathe again.

Every step I take,
my empty heart burns,
so lay it on the ground,
to find life without it,
but how can I live,
without my heart?

Every season,
teaches us lessons,
but this season appears,
the hardest of them all,
so I have to believe,
that the lesson of this season,
will be the biggest one,
I have ever learned.

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Photograph made by: Gineke van Keulen!

 

At the doorstep of spring

At the doorstep of spring

At the doorstep of spring,
the first jasmine petals open up,
releasing their sweet aroma,
until my heart leaps with joy.

This is what I was waiting for,
the unexplainable joy in my heart,
lifting my soul from the darkness,
into a world filled with light.

More and more I am learning,
to find the sweet aroma’s inside myself,
that I can turn into scented candles,
as a gift for the people entering my life.

No matter the problem,
no matter the outcome,
I am entering a season of spring,
where love surrounds me with peace.

Hope is the season of love,
where I learn how to trust,
in a light bigger than the darkness,
and in a love bigger than this world.

At the doorstep of spring

Early Autumn

Early Autumn

The chestnuts fall wherever they want.
Acorns lose their hats in the process.
The maple collects its juice for the next harvest.
A squirrel hides his food in the grand old oak.
Unshakable is the tree that bears her fruit.

The cinnamon apples spread their warm perfume.
Sweet is the scent that melts my heart.
The autumn sky embraces the strong cold winds,
but the fire in the hearth keeps me warm.

When the honey sweetens the hot liquid,
the words of my heart are kind.
Now the green leaves fall down,
and in the raked pile I make snow angels.
Joyful is the heart that reminds itself to be young.

In expectation of the winter I look at You,
but the clock hasn’t moved the hour yet.
Impatient is the heart that tries to hurry.
In time the feet will triple over themselves.
The lesson of patience is an impatient one.

At the kitchen table I drink my tea,
as You fill my head with happy memories.
And in the warmth of Your touch,
I learn to embrace the blessings,
of an early autumn.