Control is a moment fleeting,
A fading feeling in-between fate.
Therefore, it's said that love just happens.
Clearly, it's a lie too great.
"F*ck you, my puppeteer..
A Fool you make of Me!"
But when I look up,
I see the strings strung tight
around fingertips of mine.
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Don't look back to me like that at all.
"Who is to blame of the land?
Why, it seems control was in your hand.."
'Verkering' is Dutch for relationship, but it's older meaning isn't used any more in this time, which is 'something that happened'. It inspired me to write this poem.