door Bart De Becker

Inspiration as a mere sop
Talent like self-contempt
Playing to the ancient walls
To the air
To nothing
As if that were everything

The old inborn habit
The restraint
The justified fear
That normal behaviour
Is not in play

Yet still the ancient faith
In a simple kiss
As a simple cure
For all this torment
Brought about
By mere chance

And no farewell this time
Even if all of it
Remain vicarious
For opportunity seems
a mere chimera
Only fate seems in play

door Bart De Becker

tekstbron: flashback ontvangen op 11/04/2021
gebruikt in uitzending RK-2021-04-10

Stuur uw bijdragen (enkel tekst aub, geen prentjes) voor de WEEKBLADEN naar

Ontdek onze CD-collectie