Shall I paint you a picture?
With my pen and paper I may yet sing you a song,
With these scrolls I scribe, away to see my each and every perspective, prospective to today's little happenings,
blissfully ignorant to what happened just a few seconds ago.

You see,
My words are the arts,
You paint with your heart.

Truth was always found
in tongues of loose razors;
sarcasm's edge pared
flesh sentimental,
weakness fallen
in strips to the ground,
where salt sown in handsful
ensured earth never fertile
that any blossoms might grow

So long food for the soul,
sharpness scooped up,
that bare hands
drunk in deep draughts,
and welcomed the cup
from which they poured forth;
occasional trips into hell,
for audience with the devil
to discuss global weather,
other pressing matters...


So to find anything of beauty,
like treasure revealed in moon beams
striking at just the right angle -
intricate, delicate, diaphanous
scarf trembling in melodies
only I hear, heartsongs
escaped lips of a siren
in distance where
stars grow...

Reading wonder in silk strands
woven as if by angel's hands;
imagined some magic
spun for me
a web that had existed
eternally, though never seen
'till revealed accidentally
in reflections of some
ancient lights

Today I'm made of starfire
sharpest blades can't uncover;
in morning, pondering patterns
clouds make in blue skies
like child's discoveries;
listening to sonatas in sunsets
as sweet tastes of poetry
relieve lingering stings
of doubt in my mouth

Point light source.
Glimpse upon your reality.

Soft-spoken liars,
Emptying their forsaken breath upon battle-scarred ears.

Anticipation of the days to come,
Eases the empty mind;
Drain'd by warfare unseen.

The fight ongoing,
Rough-cracked skin boils in the sun,
Heat-stroked by the anxiety.

Retreat into the shadows,
You poor, blossoming flower.
All you need,
Is partial shade.

Your pastel blossoms will bloom,
With colors that will amaze and astound.

Feed upon the streams that drift by,
And at last you will shine as your heartsongs always knew you could.

Define your own beauty,
And become your very own,
Point light source.

~Robert van Lingen

Things are getting better
a little every day…
partially because
I know your love does stay
I understand that we cannot
be together -
I know it.
That is clear
But to know
How much you loved me-
Well, this makes me
feel so special and dear
You see,
I have the poems
that you wrote and sent to me
I have your heart
in writing
and this means more than
anything to me
(even if you
were a samurai
fighting).
Your verse, your pen
The words that flowed
Straight from
your heart into mine
They filled me and still fill me
with a love
that is beyond divine
So even though
I know
in my mind
that we are finished
The heartsongs
you have left me
prove our love
was undiminished.
Yes…I know, my darling
that this romance
is over
and there is nothing to be done
but know
that you were sweet
as clover
as it touches
the tip of my tongue
Yes, I write this with sadness
am still in grief
over this loss
of a love so strong
But I will be all right
with the belief
that we are both
moving on

Heartsongs wave in the frequency of light.
They glide gently through a wavering cavity.
Their voices are filled with the longing of
of a light which sprays its glow amongst the dust surrounding your face.

You sigh, empty of breath, as your hands lay motionless against the screen. A dam of words cramps knuckles and seizes the moment. Those words are stuck there, roaring around your joints - an elliptical trajectory in perpetual void.

Unexpected resurrection of my dabbled dreams by way of unrelented surprise.

Supposed fast forward into the mud pies in which my dreams now lie.

Hands on practice,
For saying goodbye.

Unintelligible groveling of my mind begging for something familiar.


Hello there.
This is your blank slate.
Do with it what you will.


Stale heartsongs frozen in headlights.
Unsure of where to run.

Anywhere but away.

Perhaps,
Ere on the side of caution,
LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO.

Take a step back,
Onto the fallen floorboards that follow behind.
Fast forward the rewind.

It is time.

I don't employ the thesaurus
To write my poetry
False airs are not invisible
It's not snooty words we seek
We want to feel the boiling of your blood
The heartsongs of your childhood
Loves you've lost
Loves you gained
Mistakes you'd never make again
Who took your virginity
And why'd you made that choice
What you someday hope to be
Sweetheart, use that vòice!
Be you, with words you know and use
What have you got to lose?