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no matter how many times
i've crossed these tracks
nor how old i might now be
i will still feel
that childlike excitement
building within
as i look cautiously
left then right and
left then right again
just to be sure
before stepping across
that first metallic line
a symbol of both
danger and adventure
rechecking the signals
as i cross the second
i have never understood
what those lights tell
of the next train's progress
red yellow green
single or double
flashing or constant
no matter how clear
the tracks appear
the uncertainty of
what might soon be
unstoppably approaching
always sets me on edge
momentarily apprehensive
yet exhilarated by
each rushed step
Man Mar 8
Why does no one trust that I am wise?
When my words are rarely argued,
And I rarely use them to argue.
Only to show truth where there is lie.
And, by my own device, I have
The strength to allow the decision
Not to be brought, but arrived.
I only want you to look at what I see, if
You view and disagree,
Then we both learn something.
That I was wrong, and
You were right.
Man Mar 8
I cry at your confusion, truly.
I cannot see what you see,
Why we can not live together
As one people, free.
But tears dry before they fall,
Because I refuse to tend sadness.
Madness? Call it what you will,
If everyone thought as I did
We would be living in peace and harmony.
But, isn't that always the case?
Still I stake, hope and dreams
On the good naturedness of humanity
Because that is what we truly are
That is the core to our being, for
It is in your belief that gives such things life
And the first man did not rise to strike another
But to reach higher up the vine
To protect his young
To share in the gifts granted by the father of lights, these stars that fuel
Mother nature, who cannot stop giving
Even if it were her will,
And it is not. Because she loves you
Even if you do not reciprocate.
That love, unconditional;
Where man can learn.
Man Mar 6
If I can not foster respect from you
In action and in word;
If nothing is ever good enough for you
My respect, you haven't earned.
If you cannot accept me as I am,
You are the problem.
Because I am only human
the flowers that bloom
at the site of this burial
are not a marker
nor memory of
what lies beneath;
they are the reminder
that there will always
be this burst of
colour and beauty
to be cherished
in spite of
what those roots
have grown through
Zywa Jan 24
At most I myself

catch what I mean, with you it's --

Novel "Buitenstaanders" ("Outsiders", 1983, Renate Dorrestein), § 1

Collection "Wean Di"
Mrs Timetable Jan 23
Your font
Makes you
Perception, unconscious brain emotions
Rosie Jan 15
Beneath the canvas of the starlit sky,
A beacon burns, a lullaby.
Through shadows cast, a tale unfolds,
Of a love more precious than gold.

In shadows interlaced, the glow would sing,
A celestial whisper, a familiar wing.
I'd stray at times, chasing the day's fleeting gleam,
Questioning the light, like a forgotten dream.

Resentment clung to the flickering light,
As if returning home was a surrender to night.
In my heart, a whisper of pride,
Home meant I hadn't soared wide.

Through the years, the light reframes,
No longer a symbol of forgotten aims.
Like moth to a flame, I’d circle back,
To a hearth that murmured, a quiet track.

Now, the light's not a sign, not a line in the sand,
But a soft place to land, in an unknown land.
A sanctuary, a heartbeat, a welcoming roam,
In the cadence of shadows, I find my home.

The door swings wide with a creak and a sigh,
A refuge awaits, where tears can dry.
So, as I wander life's unknown,
The light guides me back, a beacon of home.
I may see home different, but the light always stays on.
Zywa Jan 9
Knowing someone well,

wanting to believe it, that --

it is possible.
Novel "jl." ("recently" - the title also refers to Juno Linnaarts, 2016, Anjet Daanje), chapter July 21st, 1969

Collection "Inmost [1]"
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