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Die woorde word verlore
Op die blou lyne van my geestelike geraas
Ek roep die trane
Maar my stem val op dowe reenboë,
My hand val...
Ek het nie meer die pen nodig nie
Die emosies nou weg…
Geen krag is myne nie.
Geen krag was ooit myne nie.
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Sjoe, heavy... Lyn 2 en 4 is pragtig. Voel asof die skrywer vasgevang voel, asof niemand die uitroep hoor nie en dit los hom/haar magteloos. Lekker om Afrikaans op die webblad te lees.
