The children come home,
and morning sun is weeping,
the children come home,
their hopes and dreams are sleeping

The children come home,
no drivers for this flock
the children come home
no lead, just silent shock 

The children come home,
and Mother Earth is crying,
the children come home,
Spring is not meant to die in

The children come home,
blue skies are turning red,
the children come home,
this Summer’s breath is dead

The children come home,
how barren their aligning,
the children come home,
the clouds wear silver lining 

The children come home,
the future now bereft,
the children come home,
no wishing stars are left

The children come home,
and Winter far off calling
the children come home,
no snow for them to crawl in

My child is coming home,
there is no room to fill
my child is coming home,
no cure,  no wonder pill

My child, my love, my dear,
where is it  you are roaming?
O Mommy, Daddy, hear:
your heartbeat’s my soul’s homing

The children fly home,
embrace their broken wing,
the children are home,
their song the church bells sing

The children stay home,
now morning sun is sleeping
the children rest home,
their dreams in our safekeeping.

(Music: Eric Satie ~ “Gnosienne” performed by Wayne McEvilly ~ check out his website for his inspiring work to bring classical music to children: http://www.waynemcevilly.com )


And silence now is overwhelming… #buscrash #Sierre

And silence now is overwhelming, still I am carried,
     and to my wings your breath is life supporting,
even in deepest darkness your lighthouse penetrates
         and should it be the sun revoked its rays,
or oceans’ waves were nevermore to kiss the sandy beach,
    I know a harbour there, the homeland of my soul ~

          beyond all words there is your kingdom,
          beyond my grief there is your answer:

       “Wherever you may roam be welcome here.”

The Womb


 Seasons ~ Ebb ~ Flow
Bride and Groom
Ocean ~ Desert  
Star and Moon
Life ~ Death ~ Man ~Beast
Day of Doom
All  Are Mastered by
The Womb

“Every midwife knows
that not until a mother’s womb
softens in the pain of labor
will a way unfold and the infant
find that opening
through which it can be born.
O my friend,
there is treasure in your heart,
and it is heavy with child.
All the awakened ones,
like trusted midwives
are saying to you,
Welcome this pain.
Let it open
the dark passageway
of grace.”

(italics:) Rumi 

(I found the Rumi poem @ Diane Walker’s blog, pay a visit there!)


When at my door your final bell will ring
I shall remember those who opened, let
you in and begged for one last song to sing,
who thought a mercy prayer would convince
to have a pardon granted by this prince

When at my door your final bell will ring
I shall remember those who weren’t in
but uninvited, still got lifted by your wing,
who while preparing for a glorious flight
were grounded brutally, take off denied

When at my door your final bell will ring
I shall remember those who welcomed
you as royalists their banished king
who after years of fruitless fight
eventually got their heart’s delight

When at my door your final bell will ring
I shall remember all, praise the Almighty,
challenge your sword with mine then swing
so that my blade will testify that it is I
who at the doors riposted to your passing by

painting: Ferdinand Vercnocke, ‘Mars’, Oil on canvas, 100x80cm
top img = wooden handmade sword, present to my 2nd son by his friend

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