Processing with words. Or going trough the pain with words. There's something in place. The wounds are getting smaller, but permanent signs occur in the place."Hidden treasure". A diary yhat was sleeping in a box in the attic for eighty years. An authentic document! POEM BY ELLE WERNERS To our split bones the war sticks Now, after more than eighty years We show up yo tell you that our stories must be read They don't describe secrets or sacred symbolism They are like fragile creatures at the edge of an abyss With their feelers, they scanned the space at the time that space also spans the time in which you (The Reader in the One and Twentieth Century) currently located * www.oorlogsverhalen.com ( W : WERNERS-JOHANNES THEODORUS )