Nowadays Now there are these daysI just wish to be the moonand creep into your roomto caress you with my rays.

For all the Times

For all those  times of what could have been, but never was, for all those chances that have been given, just never taken, and all these years the seasons turned, one by one, now, at the break of dawn, the wind will no longer whisper your name, for time has run out, and all chances …

No More Reasons

No more reasons left to write, the pen lies useless on the desk, to gather dust instead of words. Why expose in black on white, there is nothing left to be said, for silence itself has no chords. No song sings in a soul. bereft of its whole.  

The Statue

Outlined by just the warm light shining from the windows for everyone to be seen she stands there looking at the pond through passing seasons she always stands there motionless chiseled out of stone emotionless looking at the pond.  

City Gate

Through all these centuries the church towers still reach faithfully towards the sky, yet under the stone bridge, the river is forever on its way to an unknown destination.

Reflectie (Reflection)

  Jij bent zoals de zee, en ik ben zoals het zand jij neemt en jij geeft in jouw getijden golven verander ik constant. ----------------------------------- You are like the sea and I am like the sand, you take and you give, with your ebbing and flowing I am changing constantly.

In de Duisternis ( w/Translation)

In de duisternis verkleuren herinneringen naar middernachtblauw, verwaaien alle onvervulde wensen met het sterrenstof, weerkaatst maanlicht in de scherven van onbereikbare dromen, in de duisternis vervagen grenzen tussen wat was, wat is. ---------------------------------------------------------------- In the darkness, memories discolour into midnight blue, drift all unfulfilled wishes with the stardust, reflects moonlight in the shards of impossible …


Today, at the beach, I set my thoughts free on the wings of a seagull, yesterday I give to the gently lapping waves of the sea. My heart stranded at the road-stead, yet, my soul anchored within the hope that tomorrow the tide will turn again.

Our Pattern

Two lines, parallel, ever so ever connected in between the pauses, form as hourglasses, placed consecutively one by one in a row, until one of us will run out of time, to intertwine the lines, and all shall fall apart, as the loose sand from a broken glass.