Bruises on my hips
from a growth spurt, long days
of practising my brains
and always cycling against the wind
in the winter over polder ice

A doctor's prescription
with jealous eyes of my sisters
who also want to eat sweet
cream every day, but then
they'd have to grow faster

make long days of practising their brains
and always cycle against the wind
in the winter over polder ice
(for their future, for themselves –
..the party will be later)

Not everyone flies.
You land hard a lot.
Then just as you think
it's time for a new direction,
just as you think
it's not worth another stumble,
a fresh fall onto your knees,
you launch and take flight.

An updraft catches your wings
and you're airborne.
And when you eventually land
you see that you've got
somewhere new,
a whole new perspective.
That's when you know you're a flyer.

Not every line flies.
You land hard a lot.
Then just as you think
it's time for a new direction,
just as you think
it's not worth another stumble,
a fresh fall,
your thoughts take flight.

An updraft catches your wings
and you're airborne.
And when you eventually land
you see that you've got
somewhere new,
a whole new perspective.
That's when you know you're a poet.

Not every prayer flies.
You land hard a lot.
Then just as you think
it's time for a new direction,
just as you think
it's not worth another stumble,
a fresh fall onto your knees,
your prayer takes flight.

Your spirit resonates with His
and you see His face.
And when you get to your 'Amen',
you see that you've got 
somewhere new,
a whole new perspective.
That's when you know you're a pray-er.

The look of welter, in a brother with fear,
Is the love that's fading along with the tears,
Broken pieces of a garden he's been crying for,
And with pain in his body, he keeps rising back for more.

The look of a father, when he gets you alone,
You have seen it coming, and you know that he's gone,
The dust under your tongue and love in your hand,
Knows that he will never come back here in the end.
And  you try hard, loving them,
Try loving them,
Try hard, try loving them.

There's a look of war in the words that he throws,
And wound the weak hearts like they're a fiery arrow,
From all that quick warmth, they have built the blame,
When all that is burning are his human flames.

He may be looking at the smile and lift,
A friendship that to you is a gift,
And there's no escape when he changes you,
But he's changing too.

And you try hard, loving them,
Try loving them,
Try hard, try loving them.

Little thistledown
As anxious as you and I
But never ill-judged

Would you dig a tunnel to me -
one that's wide enough for you -
so you can reach me through this distance?
Prove to me I matter, too.

And would you walk from end to end,
in the dark and all alone,
just to touch me one more time,
or see just how much I have grown?

I have laid a road to you.
Many times I've wandered on it.
I can never find the end.
I guess I'm just a hypocrite