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 )


The deep of night, my son
brings birth to you;
chosen one, on this stage
of cheat and show,
be you this hour – live
pure as is this Silence,
child, blessed by
God’s unselfishness;
stay night – day is delusion.
When moment comes for you
to stride into the light,
stand as the tower,
which bears thy name;
taller than your foe,
living from vista

(poem, written by my father, for the card he designed at my birth,
I was named after Saint Rombout’s cathedral, Mechelen, Belgium)

The Promise


As sure as seasons and as sure as stars, as sure as
ocean’s breathing ebb and flow, as sure as sun and
rain, or arrow leaving bow, as sure as mother’s womb
gives birth to all: a greater force encompasses it all,
so when we go to sleep it is to wake up and collect
what has been given, it is to carefully consider how
and when we are to fit each little drop into an ocean
we can call our own, our dreams then are the waves
that keep on rolling on the darkened shores, never
revealing what the smiling Moon was witnessing,
while rising Sun is waiting for our eyes to reap,
and so it is: there is a Postman that continuously
delivers, even our smallest wish is handled with the
utmost care, He knows what message matches with
our Soul’s desire, He trusts our Heart eventually shall
break the code of whatever lies encrypted in the Letter
He imprinted in our deepest vault, who, when or where,
however, this mystery we never shall unfold, we only are
recipients, but here it is: as sure as seasons and as sure as
stars, as sure as ocean’s breathing ebb and flow, as sure as
rising sun, as crescent Moon, or arrow leaving bow, as sure
as mother’s womb gives birth to all, so is the Postman’s
Promise: your Letter was delivered, it just craves for you
to use your opening key, enter the vault, trust your Heart
and read: believe Love is the greater force encompassing it all.

(img: “Christmas”, oil on canvas, 1964, F.Vercnocke)

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