Recollective thoughts of oblivion detailed to detailed satisfaction
Hadn't asked why from before-ance, t'was more an extremity of non understanding then
Asking the questions to fixate as an individual has its time frame
Sky is blue and white it appears
the full Moon was out yesterday
The light was not so shady
the clouds a darkened mist
The stars a faking glistening bliss
It was all about the aces
the places
and not the faces...
to be continued

© 2018 Clarissa van Vreden

I vredens tider
Med de triste munde
Er det vigtigt at huske
På de gode stunde

Kroppen bliver bundet
Af sindets tanker
Og udvikler sig efter
Til et emotionelt anker

Når vreden den rammer
Og bliver til fysiske skrammer
Bliver sund fornuft
Sat bag stål og trammer

You phase me
I've phased me
It was a phase I was in
Where you've known me
But when I see you
All that I can see,
Are those judge mental eyes.

© Clarissa C. van Vreden

Like the bee that stings to death
Like the poison that it began from
Like the spider, the God to web
Catching supper

© Clarissa C. van Vreden

I had a sense of clarity
It is moving past the stagnant things because I understand now that those things are not of importance
They are kind of like this darkness that you should rather look through and out of because expansion of this is more of what you don't need.
It's just there to shout. It's nagging and wants to sleep. It's upset because it gets too depth in wrong times in its own; In its own existence.
When that happens, your body has no life because you are stuck in your mind- but when you still seek creativity within your mind with this you can call it hell or its complete opposite.
You are either sad and in pain or find beauty in this pain and that could define beauty in darkness and maybe that is why black and white is so signifying together.

© Clarissa van Vreden

I’ve come to understand now that of course as someone is sleeping, the other needs to give respect and not wake that individual of course- It’s always been like that for in terms of that knowledge though maybe we are all simply put born as individuals where our brains do not mesh in any way shape or form other than talk about ourselves and unto ourselves to make points come across

That we are all individually intrinsic and that sleeping all together as a global spheric mannerism is just the way so that so that that can just be some way of understanding that humans are a certain way

It’s like we do this just in case the real out there aliens are alive for them to see what humanity is like that it’s its own planet meant for humanity. Other than it proves no point at all, when the lights go down low and the music begins to blare and the fireworks are in the air on a schedule that changes every, single, year

This is our Atmosphere

© 2018 Clarissa van Vreden

Judgement calls for the infiltration of none of it at all
The sad barrier that so many want to write about
to touch, to make reasoning of-
sad speech when feeling good,
thought of love for being hurt
in that touch of a moment for a waking call
of pens on poetry walls.

© 2017 Clarissa van Vreden

As the sun rose down again,

the flight of being up,

made question

For when had flown,

running about to go,

further and then back up again

Sitting, resting, laying, testing dreaming of a scape canoe

waters still, risen unto

making way to where

feet hold, escaping the lovely day

© 2018 Clarissa van Vreden

the melody’s of love’s music is consuming
the words in lyrics all too knowing
here comes another love song
here comes another love song
something you feel like crying
you end up sighing
what’s left in your heart
that you thought you were done with crying
but you see it’s quite simple
tears an echo of pasts love is mellow
back to your own now for the sound of that details of the cello
the beauty signified more strummed but can you take it
can you hum
can you feel that it’s ease?
Back to the beginning now
hard without no thoughts sought out
but remember those happy days?
Sometimes in memories you remember it was only you still you not hays
then you fell in love with those interests you so strummed
you fell in love with that special someone that made the bass drum
and when it was all done
too consuming
love, the music, was too consuming

© Clarissa C. van Vreden

Violets are grey
Berries are blue
Nettles are green
Cherries are red
Berries are purple

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Stems are yellowish
Seeds are green

Violets are grey
Blood is blood

Your blood is red
Mine might be blue,
or yellow, or orange, or pink

© Clarissa van Vreden

Four winds,
four fires,
five flyers,
might migher,
rised higher,
faught tired.

Brought fire,
four liars,
rise flyer,
migh fighter.

Four signs,
water above,
four mighers,
buy, rider.

Five sighers,
tide nicer,
right lighter fire, fire.

Four tiers,
Earth fire.

© Clarissa van Vreden

In words of wording
in times of no time to wording
to inner wordings
to not misleading but leading
with what is more powerful
and human

Lies the knowledge of the deepest self
not in the partials but the overall
in the leading of the overall
where darkness can become home
where soul can be found to know

In subconscious array in sleep of away
remains the space that is so much to hold
to gather here in dissaray
to finding what you as one might like
a pleasing of some type of hell range

Fear whatever you must like to
know whatever you so despise to
find nothing in you
other than that space,
you can name home

© 2018 Clarissa van Vreden

Why do I seek darkness?
It's because I can see what shines the brightest
Miles away and I can admire your ways
In darkness relies truth,
In darkness relies knowledge.
Like a star you may be different when nearest but I can see you shining from far away and that matters.
Your smile can shine different here than imagination can because I feel it true,
because even when we're gone we can still feel it.
That's why,
I love darkness

© Clarissa C. van Vreden

Ether licking sentipede raising a bar in solitude,
flaming pink aftermath of candle wax,
say raise frequency to the mosquitos and its dandelions,
and the spiders no longer shake
Where the roots of Miss. Dandellion ached the pit of rottening veign.
She never wept like the rain that first dropped on the candle,
but her strength residual in licking sentipede.
Bathing in the bites of mosquitos at a constant,
keeping her ******, alive.

© Clarissa van Vreden

She wore footsteps in her horizon
The fly flew exactly where it was aching to be a bee
The Aunt eater, was nibbling on her toast
The rat was born with its tale first,
Breathing on oxygen

The light has bugs burnt
The rainbow was the only thing left over, to be amazing

© Clarissa van Vreden

You had the way
you had your day
The night turned young
and the birds yeah,
they sung.

Today is different
you're in my psyche,
so far and gone.

Back to this what?
Back to that
My heart is a hummingbird
and you took that back.

See ya tomorrow!

© Clarissa van Vreden

In title of detrimental view in sight of seeing in passing in time
it is not here but rather not there the viewing of ones perspective,
in complete and utter ruin of not truing the reality of the reality,
of evil lives' viewing
Never helpful,
never right,
never faithful,
always not right
Passing in time the non newness of creative reasoning
never a need for a fight
for many unlike yourself use what's there to make newness a creative flight
So let it be a part of what's in sight, truly as it is there for you a part of view a part of view
The boring days will have arose in this understanding as to why
when it is people like yourselves who can see this as sense
the undoing will never be pleasing,
never feel faithful
to your true knowledge of you
the diamond in the right
light, be light

© 2018 Clarissa van Vreden

Look at the dark shadows...
They are crawling here...
Where light shed in super freezing lie.
In cracked shatter of demise!
Hell finds light in broken pieces brought from something nice.
Light, light, light how you marry the poor;
Pieces of tomorrow...
Dark bell shadow, how you came from yesterdays tomorrow.
Hey! Pure darkness,
find here the whisper of your sorrow.
Breath of pure morrow.
Fused like day in today, brought upon the sound of light!
Ever change in wonder?
No! Spoke solid in dark and depth,
die!

© 2018 Clarissa van Vreden

As we get higher
we rise deeper in soil
A guardian mirror
like God protecting its mirage
Does one not feel fine through his own reflection?
Although, you look too hard, you get then
not the way you look at the moon
but the way you get too close,
you're afloat in a place you no longer belong
As we dig deeper
we find remain
finally as we fall under
we close our eyes
and there isn't any longer that mirror
from above as so deep under,
there's infinity

© Clarissa van Vreden

Isn't so to say who you are.
It's about glittering eyes for dilated pupils.
It's about control.
It's about the movement of a butterfly's' wings.
Expression will always be there and if you think not it is there glim.
It can't hide but it can be in shadow...
resting.

© 2017 Clarissa van Vreden

It's the evening
There is no thunder, yet
It's bound to happen eventually
It's like the time versus the weather,
and yet there is no knowledge to everything
The mysterious and the real happenings, bound, to be forgotten

© Clarissa van Vreden

This memoire...
That Guy was like magic
It was like obscene
Like the internal visual aspect, of yes, my dream

Past night...
I am in love with you.
I can't "see you"
I only cry and I don't know why.
Phsically strong with emotion in nerve endings,
sick.

© Clarissa van Vreden

(to be continued)

We took each others falsely
noses off
We met each other later
after the bus ride where
everybody took each others
noses off
Where we met in my
romance of not knowing
Where I dissappeared myself,
because we didn't take
each others noses off.

© Clarissa van Vreden

it has a lot of faults,
your story,
has a lot of unsaid
your story
has a lot of knowledge

Your story is epic,
but yet so strange as of right now: Bland

The thought of it explanation,
gets you eery instead of laughable because of
what?

You felt you couldn't explain it better?

Your story,

mine.

PS: Do tell because that is why you feel this way

© Clarissa C. van Vreden

I am laying in a daze
where the quivering of the crows have got me in a spin
one of which I've made a spider web without remembering how or when
The days are tumbling like the sea side and I'm deciding whether or not to take this ride; Comforting in no gaps or holes- oh this must be a glorious slide.
I may arrive in a place known where I can't climb back upwards to the place known where my web is that of a still image
and so I go for joy in darkness where I might find a glittering star just like that star, I've gone so far.
My heart made of copper bleeds the insides of my gooey body edging its surroundings turning into vein drops the muse don't break because my heart is with me.
Sometimes I ponder my body is made of silver tear drops, as I wash myself with the rain.

© 2018 Clarissa van Vreden

Well hello,
I'm on my thoughts literally word for word writing without thought.
I'm speaking in disguise in ways I mesmerise for wings have unfolding happy brings.
Speaking in tongue saying why oh why such a disguise when it's my mask that let me to you!
How do you do?!
So I spread my wings, and scream oh dear! Which makes me laugh because hey dear, oh my,
I can fly! No no these words are my song just beautiful how this be a twist of the tongue.
Oh my mesmerised eyes.
Now what do I spy?

© 2017 Clarissa van Vreden

The interchanging elapse
Between the wind and the sun
The air and the rising soil

Comes with how different
Or how yet so the same

As it happens now like when
The pour of rain
The sunshine though
Flickering in the eyes
Over ever-change

Though my eyes see different
Perhaps I’m unkowingly some type of
Colorblind

Moving perhaps forwards or backwards
As I sleep of memoires
And hasty rememberance when I wake up
To of yesterday

Rainbows come in a while usually
Though stagnant in piling up of thought
For it exists

Where and there though
Distinguishable

Fire flames of proving existing now
Like ashes
You’ll never be gone

© Clarissa van Vreden

internet stuff comes back up

© Clarissa C. van Vreden

So I’m sitting here right and I’m so **** aggrivated and annoyed that I can’t stand to even right it all down.

It’s like I have those eyes that I see at night staring at me through the daytime. Just one pair of eyes just glaring at me!

It’s just, another way to die.

Though at other times it’s all bubbly and lovely, right now I’m not in the "so called mood."

I’m like haunted, and a bit of fresh air can help me flaunt it. I’m having physical breathing problems and is it just that because of it?

I didn’t mean for this to be lyrical or poetry-like? Am I daunting? I never ask myself me, how I’m like. Because I know me right on not right off the bat.

I’m haunted!

© Clarissa van Vreden

They are crawling here...
where light shed is super freezing lie.
In crooked shatter of demise!
Hell finds light in broken pieces brought from something nice.
Hey! Pure darkness, find here the whisper of your sorrow.
Breath of pure morrow.
Fused like day in today,
brought upon the sound of light!
Dark bell shadow, how you came from yesterdays tomorrow.
Ever change in wonder?
No! Spoke solid in dark and depth, die!
Light, light, light how you marry the poor;
Pieces of tomorrow...

© Clarissa van Vreden

Like nothing I write matters anymore?
Go back to writing in books?
Wasn’t there a purpose for writing in the stanza?
Wasn’t there a purpose for coloring to begin at?

Wasn’t there a purpose to help humanity with the non-begs of entirity though proof-work of somethings?

Wasn’t there a non-place though an at-place at purposing with words?
Word and or non-endeavor though word for placing action at for placing?
Wasn’t there a means for some type of entell where others can read and where others can see a pass-by of art?

Why anything at all I question myself as I realize not my body yet but realize there may not be a purpose to anything at all when so much has been done and not a thank you Clarissa for having written/action-ed/placed/…

It’s like what good is anything of doings when feasts are barely feasts and become rather a laugh-at
For it’s that majority prefer to, laugh-at rather than laugh-with.

It’s that there hadn’t been no pleasure in minds though rather seeking pleasure for that as

I can’t recall a place socially anymore online where there was appreciation for statuses re-mongst books or school-type shares with acknowledgement. Besides many of those people are dead not already but somewhere amongst the lines.

It’s never like I say internal but saying like over and over again can by very funny. I don’t want to think about how many have gone about speaking of the word like with everything in between as though it’s humanity though I have written there and that is the truth: Like… Somehow seems to fly by very as easy.

Back to belief in how it may be more to the structure of not writing anywhere is no longer a means for I have done that already and I can’t not not help it.

My body is where I is.

© Clarissa van Vreden

In a Spiritual world,
much not needed of explain:
In a Galaxy field World
we are all in
In galaxy connection

Sometimes it's like "what?"
to say for the negative inside
I come across,
a leech
a ******* my speech
and I don't want to be there for it hear it,
but there it is
that repeat
of my taste, so to speak.

It's like I get it!
so to pass out on a bad note,
it's not the greatest feedback
because, it is not me.
It's that link that exists...

Why not you try to be you and try
face your faith if you've heard of such,
and be your behave because we're all much better off.
Though why would you read this a hear out listen
though, "we're all much better off."

Don't be ware of the human leech,
ignore it
and continue being, who you are.

I have come to face the Witch(es)
They intact imaginational visual feed force upon thee
and crack a field in your Aura
because of envy

Witches exist too,
and so do
the spiritual
human leech.

Energy,
it exists.

© Clarissa C. van Vreden

Blue rose sunshine

Blue arose in the sun of shine
this ah morning
this ah morning

Rain drops of the evening last nights setting
appear on the woods of falling
almost blue like the ocean,
hit a water fall back unto
back unto
this ah delightful morn

that beauty music is hitting my eardrums whilst silence has been clear
nothing psychotic
no never that my dear my dear

This early morning the sunshine shun so shunning shiningly bright
my eyes fell a tear drop
from pure delight

Blue arose in the sun of shine
this ah morning
this ah morning

What has been setting with my hands
has now been that virtue to clear stand
open the books
take a walk
See the afternoon,
that too,
until the dimming lights
of today
that new new fresh morning say

Blue arose in the sun of shine
this ah morning
this ah morning

© Clarissa C. van Vreden

In flowers boom
dusts of red and maroon
fire red as noon
sprung a little
that there's life
that there's life
amongst the ignite
Thorns in pieces
light as eases
no one saw
the ignition that went off
though who's no one
when the bombs has been there at all.
Spirits called
at the Quake.
A relativity at non hand
not a mistake
A relativity of grounding
for men who left the going fire
in the blooms of myre.
Earth is where we need to be
As soul is human
Spirit is for the human
human deflates at death
Rising above and beyond
Where? What entacts us?
What ignites us?
A reminder of where we need to be
is this Planet.
I boom. You boom. Mothers boom.
Sparkles of you, you, you.
Fire as infinite,
sprung
that there's life that there's life
amongst we the people.
Flowers intact - grass grows, butterflies form.
Light shines.
Everyone sees. Stay grounded.
Earth, recall: The Planet.

by Clarissa van Vreden

Where there once was a willow tree, out-broke some purple Daisy flowers. Indeed smelling of lavender. The grass grew dim and the sun always setting. Where there was a will was a way reminded the willow tree. Birds seemed to re-speech what was said. Crows my loveliest animals out of this bunch, just because... Well there was a book about a wishing well they've all heard of- far away. Here the rain was enough supply- The mothers, all friends- the fathers also. My favorite was pumpkin soup.
They stayed living to out the smell of something sleepy. The willow tree became like the wishing well, and here we all are, solemnly.

© Clarissa C. van Vreden