L'age d'Or    2000 -    
Le temps est un grand maître, dit-on. Le malheur est qui’il tue ses éléves.
-Hector Berlioz


Female.16.
Le temps est un grand maître, dit-on. Le malheur est qui’il tue ses éléves.
-Hector Berlioz


Female.16.

Demain, dès l’aube,
Je partirai,
je sais que tu m’attends
-mon chéri,

Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure,
La vie est si triste
et coule lentement,

Le temps se plie comme
un vêtement
Dans un coin,

Je mouille la page,
Avec ces souvenirs.

Tomorrow at dawn,
I'll leave,
I know you're waiting for me
-my darling,
I remember
the old days
and I cry at
their fondness,

how sad is life
and how slowly
it flows,

time folded
like an old
coat
- lies in a corner,
I dampen the page
with these
memories.
#poem   #poetry   #french  

The holy light comes
in these empty times;
highlighting
your pale
blonde hair,
you're heavy
and safe guarded,
I love it,
I love it,
the dimples
in your smile,
and the emptiness
in your eyes,
these lies are too
heavy to carry across
the night,
I'm 16
and I have no idea
about what
is right,
so
leave your baggage at
my door and let
me explore
the blue in your
eyes.

#poem   #poetry  

Today while
walking home
from Poilâne,
I saw
a white
wall
--graffiti,
ten feet tall,
a giant
swastika
sign
painted
grandly
on full display,

nothing
new,

but I almost
fell over,

didn't
Hitler
die years
ago?

No,
he's
still alive,
he stands
tall in
all these
faceless
shadows
who pass
by and don't
bat an eye,

I see
Mr. Tangerine
man
playing live
on T.V,
his american
accent so pronounced,

I wonder if
people
were
hiding
there
blame
and all
their
grimy
thoughts
under layers
of false
liberalism,

according to
some American
website,
1 in 3 French
are racist,

I wonder if I
am too?

Does it make
me racist
when I stare
at swastika
signs and
do nothing,
and try
so
so hard
to pretend everything
is fine?

that it is not
up to me,
that some
type of God
is pulling invisible
Conservative Party
strings,

that Nationalism
runs deeper
than the heart
and
is tearing
everything we
built and
tried
to protect,

Did kindness
die?

Did Hitler
not feel
loving compassion when
he held his wife
in his arms at
night?

Did these mysterious
swatiskas
on white
walls in small
corners of
France,
not remember
the pained
eyes of
God
as He
too
mourned
the loss of
humanity?

#poem   #poetry   #guilt   #france  

L'enfer vit dans
un des corps humains.

Hell lives in human bodies.
#poem   #poetry   #bleh  

You are
so squished,
shut up,
frozen solid
in your
little box;
but I know
you would
open up
like the
Abraxas
- if someone
were to only
feel the
gentle
thrumming of
your heart,

if someone
were to only
know
of the twisting
ache
that keeps
you up in the dark,

you want
all the words
in my
dictionary
of fallacy,

you want all the
eyes of daring
love to rest
upon your
graying
skies,

but I am
but a wandering
mind,
I know nothing
of love
and desire,

your
conservative box,
holds no room
for gentle
love to
grow,

It holds no
room for
stringless kites,
and the moon's
lonely glow,

and
      I
       believe
in dawning eyes,
and empty
lies
- that were spoken
softly out of
flow,

but all you
do is curl
up so close
- never wanting
to know,

your hatred
seeps
so
so
deep,
- and even
when your
insominic eyes
rest upon
such free skies,
you quickly
fall back
asleep.

“I live in my dreams — that's what you sense. Other people live in dreams, but not in their own. That's the difference.”
― Hermann Hesse, Demian.
#poem   #poetry   #book  

You're melting
like lozenge
in my throat,

You're tripping on
tree roots
and I have
panicked
at last
in my urgency
to get lost,

I am misdirected,
only urban legends
guide me
back to your
petrified face,

the same face I
search for in
those crowded
streets,

I'll scream next
time
and tell the
whole
world the sun
is missing,

I bet you planned it out,
when you were
falling into hell,
I know you'd never
run,
always the one to
rebel,

Where do stolen
suns go?

Can anyone
tell me please,

where do the
stolen dead go when
they're far
from deceased?

I have been robbed,
the moon mocks your
your absence,

Did Icarus not warn
you of desire?

You have scathed my
hands,
dipped them in
molten ash,
and left
behind
traces of your
laugh,

I give up
at last.

#poem   #poetry  

Did the sea
seem inviting
that day?
The way
it must have
taken your breath
away
for you to
say,

"Ah, here
I'll stay,"

Did you love the
sea more
than air
that day?

As the skies
rumbled,
downpouring
their gentle
guilt
in your tangled
mess of hair,

The way
it trickled down
your smiling face
- into your mouth,
I can almost imagine,

Did the sea
not scream
murder
as you divulged
beneath
its rough
edged
waves,

Did you not
claw
towards the
heavens,
Did you not
scream
Until
you were
strangled
alive?

Did you love
the sea so dearly,
to let it's
cold
arms
drag you
to even colder
places.

For a friend and another suicide attempt.
#poem   #poetry  
 
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