willem-van-waas
Netherlander
My name is Willem, I'm a seventeen year old bass player, traveller, and of course, a poet. I have been learning the English language pretty rapidly the last few years, though there is always a lot to learn! I enjoy learning (yes, really) stuff like biology, physics and maths, and creating a massive spire of inspiration through media and other sources.
A Meteor burns up in the Atmosphere,
Before it reaches the Earth.
A Thought burns up in my Mind,
Before it reaches the Paper.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
Lustrous brown pearls,
No words of a poet conscientious
Beautiful dark blonde curls,
Mystic her melodies mellifluous
Beloved her beauty beyond belief,
Her countenance immensely immaculate
Her appearance with minor mischief,
Her pulchritude leaves all in disbelief
Her eternal beauty so luminous,
Her personality voluminous
Endless azure skies, dancing
Over infinite copper fields
In her it is captured:
All the beauty the galaxy yields
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
Her pink dress, the cherry blossom,
Her pale face, the white lotus,
Her sweet smell, that of lavender,
Her smile, the beautiful sunflower.
My love is bigger than the ocean,
She trembles me as does an earthquake,
Her smile is the sun shining in my face,
A volcanic eruption over my days.
Grey turns to gold when you walk past,
The moon is silver when you stare;
The sky turns a deeper blue when you breathe out,
And the simmering ignites into a flare.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
A decrescendo.
The rainbow appears; red, orange and yellow leaves,
Green bushes and blue skies.
But, where is the purple?
Oh, I forgot, it's in your eyes.
The leaves dartling down,
Turning the soil into a lighter brown.
A crunchy carpet of decay,
A tree preparing for a winter's day.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
One day, walking through the forest,
I see a tree. The tree appears to be a normal tree,
and it is.
But it's somehow mesmerizing.
The spell it casts puts me into a bubble; a sweet bubble, a warm happiness.
Then, I see it.
This is the most beautiful creature.
It's dripping with gold.
Its warm skin bursts with energy and calmth.
It's beautiful hair plays in the golden sun.
The sweet air it breathes in comes out sweeter, filling the air with endless joy.
The blonde leaves dancing in the wind are mellifluous and stunning.
The breathtaking charisma overshadows all despair it has been through.
P.S. The tree is you.
P.P.S I love you.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
Poetry is the mere translation
Of thoughts and feelings
Into words.
Therefore, the biggest mistake a poet can make
Is to write words
Rather than thoughts and feelings.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:36 AM UTC
Do you smell the chaotic drift around?
Do you see the darkness, not yet found?
Can you hear the burning temples of unloyalty and ungratefulness towards ancestors?
Can you feel the presence of disorder?
Do you recognize the hate for people over the border?
The disruption won't come to an end, until the last person of our civilization went,
Down to non-existence of men.
We can't just dwell, we're under constant surveillance of people who were told what to do.
They're a bunch of freaking morons.
And we listen and obey.
So that makes us...
A bunch of freaking morons!
We just do as we're told, do what we're supposed to do!
We don't think for ourselves, we're not free!
We aren't nice, we're freaking mean!
We'll never be satisfied, we consume till we're unable to!
We don't share our food, because we worked for it ourselves!
They should earn their own!
We hate the people we don't know, and prejudice is our best friend!
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
Piercing through the outer skull,
Deeply into the brain, into the maiden thoughts of an unborn child,
You arrive at a magic place
Far past the feelings of this animal protected by it's mother.
Uncarved like dawn,
With its blueprints for a life it must live as other tell him to.
Past the deep rippled hills in his mind, into the forrest of feelings,
Filled with thoughts of happiness, with plenty of room for despair.
Purple trees and two green moons, creatures unknown to man.
The child kicks his mother, and the brain starts to tremble.
Trees fall down and start burning, it's starting to rain.
The child opens his eyes and starts to cry.
The mother looks at the baby and smiles.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 9:48 AM UTC
They say people love looking at the stars,
But the sky loves looking at you, too.
The sun, the clouds, even Mars,
They love to see what you do.
The sky likes us to lay in the moonlight,
For then it can stare at your eyes.
The time we went there in the dark night,
Seeing the fire in the skies, and the Emerald dyes,
in your eyes, so vivid and bright, the moon's light,
Silver-white, our hearts to ignite, we hold tight,
And we kiss, and we lay there,
And we go up in the night.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
Do you feel the mystery of this swamp? I'll tell you why it's here. This is the story of a girl.
'I feel the mystery of this swamp. It is engulfing and enduring. The fog makes a dizzying haze in my mind. I can't think, I can merely feel. I feel I should walk. As I walk, I see a shine, overgrown. It is as if the vines protect the shrine, for it protects them. I feel the vast ray of sunlight come through. Yet, there's darkness. The trees don't want the light to come through. The sun sets, and stars appear. Not that I see them, I feel their presence, as I always do. I get sleepy; my power set with the sun. As I fall asleep, I feel nature overpowering me. It penetrates the armour of my mind. I feel the vines grasping me, yet I don't wake up. It feels just right, as if this is what I've always been waiting for; what I always wanted. I wake up, not knowing how long I slept. I feel older, not much. Then I see him: an Old Man, appearing. He is half plant, yet half human. His presence is overwhelming. Astonishing and beautiful, yet eerie.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC