For a week the words ran out
So colourless I felt, that I began to scare myself
Who was I?
My paint was peeling away
To bare behind the flakes those shreds of dreams
That alleged I used to be a poet
Dancing in circles, rigidly
A very normal sight
A very normal sight
A very normal sight
/
No music could touch me
No meal left me satisfied
Where was I?
I was in my room, the only place that mattered
I probed around
I searched for you
I became enraged when I thought of you
I'm so sorry
I'm so sorry
I'm so sorry
/
In my dream I saw a shiny stallion
Everyone awaited the rider it would tolerate
Who will succeed?
It is a proud beast,
But he is fearful
You can see by the white of his eye
You can see by the tension in his neck
You can hear by his snorting
Each morning I awaken exhausted
As if I had been running all night
Come to me, my child
I need to cry, but I can't
I need to cry, but I can't
I need to cry, but I can't
YOU ARE READING
Entry
PoetryPoems about desire, struggle and capturing beauty in the moment. From sweet and playful to heavy-hearted and vulnerable, Entry is a search for identity and authenticity. Read Naar Binnen for the original poems in Dutch.
