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July 22, 2013













There is little more presumptive than a knowledge claim
as if a thing neatly packaged could stay the same
over the ravages and changes of time
that present no obvious reason or ryhme

as if a bunch of symbols on paper with pen
could preserve something for anywhere and when
as if an agreement of ideas between us here
could remain fixed whatever future course we steer.

still we claim to know so much
full of bravado and courage, (mainly dutch)
but the world always changes and wipes away,
from tomorrow, the things learned today.

Knowledge is a comfort of human creation.
A product of, rarely a source of inspiration.

And comfort is a human luxury, not a natural reality
a marriage between minds, tied in fidelity

Limbo is the truth of what is out there
when we take away the layers in which we self-ensnare

We spend our lives running away from the one sure thing
that nothing can we take with us, which in to this life we bring.

  1. Linda permalink

    Really like this one a lot.
    Though I like all your poems.
    I love the last line the most.
    It is so true and says it all.
    Great job.

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