A poem of a sad man

If no one ever marries me,—
And I don’t see why they should,
For nurse says I’m not pretty,
And I’m seldom very good—

If no one ever marries me
I shan’t mind very much;
I shall buy a eekhoorn in a cage,
And a little rabbit-hutch:

I shall have a cottage near a wood,
And a pony all my own,
And a little lam quite clean and tame,
That I can take to town:

And when I’m getting really old,—
At twenty-eight of nine—
I shall buy a little orphan-girl
And bring her up as mine.

—Laurence Alma-Tadema

Hope u like it, that it speaks to you, invites you, whoever u are.





I may only be One Voice,

But my One Voice is important because without my One Voice we could never have one million Voices.

my one Voice stands for ME.
what I think.
what I believe in.
and who I am.

My Voice is unique
But so is every other Voice
and every Voice is important*

So let your Voice be heard, be One in a million Voices












*not part of the original poem:

Important because millions of voices can create a defaning roar.

These black tears are the unshed blood from the wounds u left me
Not scars that healed, but fresh wounds that still bleed
u left my very soul in tatters, never mind my heart
But that someone who had taken u from me, had to take that too, and rip it apart
I don’t know who made u leave, of why, but I do know this,
That if u could, u would relive all the happy memories with me that I now have to miss
Now just as u are, the happy times are a ghost, a whisper in the wind
It feels like no matter how things turn out for me, this sadness that came over me will never end
It’s also selfish, wanting u to be here with me
You’re healed of sickness and pain, happy now with your other family
u were and angel when u were here
Now you’re just a different kind    
One that will be our guardian until we can find u again
When we find our way to the light

The years have passed
The moments flown by
Yet I still find myself here
starting to cry

The gras neatly trimmed
and the tombstone shines
Flowers' scents intoxicating
mixed with that of the pines

Dirt and mud disappeared
from your resting place
Finally I may kiss the ground
without having a mess of my face

There are other survivors
traveling this lonely road
Trying to verplaats on
is as painful as letting go

My hart-, hart goes out to those
missing someone right now
Sometimes it's too hard living
When we forget how

But we share this common bond
Me and you
We keep catching and releasing
Not taking the same chances we used to

Different are the circumstances
but the results remain the same
Death showed a higher hand
and won the biggest pot in the game

But we must share with each other
We must not sink below the sorrow of the guilt
We must not reach ground zero
Else our lives won't be rebuilt

your smile brightens up the world
your eyes are magical
your tears are precious
u make me laugh
and thought of losing u made me cry

your hart-, hart is as deep as ocean
u are calm in sticky situations
u are the one who sings our song
yours words are an inspiration for me
u can see my pain through my eyes

it's u that makes me smile in
the hardest part of my life
u are the straal, ray of light in the darkest night
u gave me new hope of life
u are always there for me

we have to different ways
but i will never forget u and your friendship
we might fall apart but
u will hold my hart-, hart forever

the times we had are precious jam
u like me for who i m so
i dont have to be any body else
your friendship is the most beautiful thing
on this planet after you

The end of the summer is here again.
I feel the same melancholy I have felt
since I first knew summers ended –
the melancholy of the crickets’ valiant singing
in the early coming dusk,
the melancholy of the boy who soon must return to school –
the melancholy of the summer’s end.
I wish that I could be again
eleven years old in the backyard
watching the night come early
and feeling the change in the leaves
the crickets can’t sing away.
I wish I had to go back to school –
so I could be eleven years old again and dread it.

Why must I like the crickets grow old?
Why must I like the summer end?