So we were told
That the answers
Would come
But no,
We were
Just served the
Same circus
Same story
Again and again
No Answers
Long Time Ago
Once upon a time
In this northern land
There was a man
Who numbered and named
All the flower in a system
It worked
However completely wrong
As it was
Time went on and on
Theories came and went
Like the cold water in a river
His stood firm,
Until a day when the Genesis of genetics
Told another tale
Families were not families
Or even relatives
Just look a like and false friends
So we started all over again
As a true believer
A son of a priest
Now it is time
To pull down
His statue and put it
Where the lilacs grow
Next to the pond
Gods come and gods go
And so will we
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Changing Stories
Creating a new narrative
Another story about myself
About the world
Forgetting that
Life moves Within its own dynamic
Very different from what we
Know and want or understand
Being a short lived flower
By the ocean
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Tyranny
The only sun
Is this one
Which rules our world
Unforgivable, life giving
Cold in winter, hot in summer
No choice, no other option
Our sun is the only sun
Within many light years
And it opens
Flower in the morning
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Love in the Gutter
Love is down the gutter
Dirty, stained and little bit moldy
Like an abandoned flower
Finding it there in the gutter
I doubted if I should pick up
Or not
Eventually
I did
Partly so ugly and stinking
Still so badly needed
Mistreated and mismanaged
I still had to care for it again
Like an old bad friend
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Mending
Healing means put together and unite what has been broken
But all the pieces just keeps on falling apart
A dead flower is dead not ever to blom again
But how to know what is dead or just very broken
Trying to mend what is broken with any tool I can find
But without understanding any tool is useless
You cannot make a flower blom with a hammer
Schibolet 