![](\"https:\/\/kariannekirsten.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/11\/adelaar-2.png\" "\\"adelaar\\"")
<\/span><\/div><\/div><\/div>![](\"https:\/\/kariannekirsten.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/11\/phoenix.png\" "\\"phoenix\\"")
<\/span><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>Still I can hear the wild geese flying, The silence of the widening sky. I\u2019m weightlessly upside down in silence, Silenced up I was hearing, I was counting the silent infinite numbers, I found out how things tend to got broken, The leaving of buildings, and leaving people. Being rooted in silence, outreaching the stars. The early crossing of temptations and feelings. To cross the lonely flight of an eagle, Silence. A ship's doctor dies at the same land from which The blessing of being not aware of times ahead, For ever.<\/em><\/p>\n After that a long lasting silence. A soft fall when I got up. A sound like breathing breaks the silence. It takes its time descending, Still I can hear the wild geese flying, The silence of the widening sky. I\u2019m weightlessly upside down in silence, Silenced up I was hearing, I was counting the silent infinite numbers, I found out how things tend to got broken, The leaving of buildings, and leaving people. Being rooted in silence, outreaching the stars. The early crossing of temptation and feelings. To cross the lonely flight of an eagle, Silence. A ship's doctor dies at the same land from which The blessing of being not aware of times ahead, For ever.<\/p>\n After that a long lasting silence. A soft fall when I got up. A sound like breathing breaks the silence. It takes its time descending, \u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":14,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-3355","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\n
one of them leading a child on feathered back.
The soft beating of wings, in endless rhythm,
and an old longing to follow their track.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nThe years scratched in days on earth-surface.
\nA patchwork of green and blue with frayed chains of mountains,
\nand the black seaming of rivers, mazing through.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nwatching the bursting of sun and sea.
\nIn radiant lightning, the search for guidance,
\nfor healing and all the rest of me.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nout of a shudder, trembling and dark, the sound of my voice.
\nIt was speaking of growing, of love and be willing,
\nit was speaking of life and making a choice.<\/em><\/p>\n
\ndrawing the figures, distort and complete.
\nLearning \u2018bout earth and how to be human,
\nthe cool laws of nature, and natural heat.<\/em>
<\/em><\/p>\n
\nor poorly repaired or get lost.
\nThe wonders of keepsakes, treasures and token,
\nThe stitches and sorrow and brushing the dust.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nSearching for geese; skyhigh to solid ground.
\nWandering the streets with the tender rain pooring,
\ntaking shelter in thought, and sentences found.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nSetting camp where the heart locates home.
\nA farm looming up in the fog of times past,
\nof lives lived and their history gone.<\/em><\/p>\n
The forest leans over the sandy path at night.
Being driven and devoured by one's own fuel,
and rising again from ashes to light.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nescaping silently and proud.
\nTo part again but never forget,
\nwhat was there almost out loud.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nThe horizon tilts as I\u2019m approaching.
\nThe harsh winds lay down to their trail.
\nWhat am I?
\nThe waving, the sea, or just the tiny sail?<\/em><\/p>\n
\nanother poet flees, to perish in the waves,
\nnearby a stony island with high rocks needling up,
\nlike statues, and bowed caves.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nwhen picking up an island rock.
\nThe dim sound of dead when lay it down later,
\nin a long wooden box and closing the lock.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAn empty sky above the beach.
\nListen to the full presence of absence,
\nand watching bare nothingness to bleach.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nFinally. Ashes on sand. The fire almost out.
\nFeathering in faded colours.
\nThe dreading heart goes fast and loud.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nApproaching slowly from above.
\nBut with my eyes closed I sense a long lost wingbeat,
\nin black and white it\u2019s love.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nbut suddenly it\u2019s there.
\nA force so strong it\u2019s blowing
\nat once all shades in flare.
\nPlaying all cards and still stake raising
\nswirls in alliance the strangest pair.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\none of them leading a child on feathered back.
The soft beating of wings, in endless rhythm,
and an old longing to follow their track.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nThe years scratched in days on earth-surface.
\nA patchwork of green and blue with frayed chains of mountains,
\nand the black seaming of rivers, mazing through.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nwatching the bursting of sun and sea.
\nIn radiant lightning, the search for guidance,
\nfor healing and all the rest of me.<\/em><\/p>\n
out of a shudder, trembling and dark, the sound of my voice.
It was speaking of growing, of love an be willing,
it was speaking of life and making a choice.<\/br><\/p>\n
\ndrawing the figures, distort and complete.
\nLearning \u2018bout earth and how to be human,
\nthe cool laws of nature, and natural heat.<\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nor poorly repaired or get lost.
\nThe wonders of keepsakes, treasures and token,
\nThe stitches and sorrow and brushing the dust.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nSearching for geese; skyhigh to solid ground.
\nWandering the streets with the tender rain pooring,
\ntaking shelter in thought, and sentences found.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nSetting camp where the heart locates home.
\nA farm looming up in the fog of times past,
\nof lives lived and their history gone.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nThe forest leans over the sandy path at night.
\nBeing driven and devoured by one\u2019s own fuel,
\nand rising again from ashes to light.<\/p>\n
\nescaping silently and proud.
\nTo part again but never forget,
\nwhat was there almost out loud.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nThe horizon tilts as I\u2019m approaching.
\nThe harsh winds lay down to their trail.
\nWhat am I?
\nThe waving, the sea, or just the tiny sail?<\/em><\/p>\n
\nanother poet flees, to perish in the waves,
\nnearby a stony island with high rocks needling up,
\nlike statues, and bowed caves.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nwhen picking up an island rock.
\nThe dim sound of dead when lay it down later,
\nin a long wooden box and closing the lock.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAn empty sky above the beach.
\nListen to the full presence of absence,
\nand watching bare nothingness to bleach.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nFinally. Ashes on sand. The fire almost out.
\nFeathering in faded colours.
\nThe dreading heart goes fast and loud.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nApproaching slowly from above.
\nBut with my eyes closed I sense a long lost wingbeat,
\nin black and white it\u2019s love.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nbut suddenly it\u2019s there.
\nA force so strong it\u2019s blowing
\nat once all shades in flare.
\nPlaying all cards and still stake raising
\nswirls in alliance the strangest pair.<\/em><\/p>\n