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NGANGO HONORÉ Aug 2021
La vie un dessein
La vie une peinture
La vie deux façade
La vie des vœux intérieures
La vie des défis surmontables
Rien de bien magique
juste persévérer pour ceux en quoi on a espérer
Mes récits sur la vie continuent 🤩🤩
Bimsara De Silva Apr 2019
The Cathedral stands
at the heart of the city,
so pure and beloved,
so strong and enduring.

Year after year,
through thick and through thin,
Through revolution and war
Our Lady stays strong.


Just one spark
Inconsequential and small.
Surely it couldn’t
bring her down to her knees.

Pride of the city,
the city of love,
it’ll take more
than just one spark.


But sparks turn to embers,
and embers to flames,
and before we know it,
all is engulfed.

The problem we have
is that things made of wood
may seem so strong
but they always can burn.


We try to save her,
She means too much to us all.
Something so beautiful
can’t just burn down.

But the flames grow higher
and the spire collapses.
Can she be saved?
Star BG Apr 2019
In the ashes of purgatory
where remnants of a Dame once lived
the Phoenix will fly.
Fly into heavens gate.
Drift gracefully in moment
that ascends to a blue sky,
so all can celebrate light.
Inspiried by Mygreatestescape Thank you

It was indeed a false flag by those who live in the shadows of institutions
unknown to the general public. The Cabal - controlling forces that are loosing the fight so all align with love and peace.
John McDonnell Apr 2019
When the cinders cool and the answer seekers
pick their way through the charred rubble
what will they find? A medieval carpenter's chisel, a pair of rosary beads, pigeon droppings, the down from an angel's wing, the tears of saints.
Tatiana Apr 2019
J'ai vu Notre Dame brûler
comme si elle était une sorcière
sur un bûcher,
comme si elle était des balles
perçant le peau,
comme si elle était les mots de bigoterie
coulant de la bouche des monstres
J'ai vu Notre Dame brûler
et nos coeurs aussi
Seeing Notre Dame burn has been horrifying. Hopefully it can be restored.
Again, french is not my first language, so any mistakes are my own.
Lillian May Apr 2019
History was destroyed and made all at once today.
Notre Dame in bright, brilliant flames.
850 years of history, class trips, memories,
singed and gone.
Everything has it's time, I suppose.
But I had a friend who wanted to meet that building,
who wanted to soak in it's secrets and stories.
And now that dream is ashy and unattainable.
Spectacular spire, it fell.
And with it, our hearts.
Ally Ann Apr 2019
My body is made of flammable stone
a paradox in its own birth
a wooden crown atop
goddesses in dressing gowns
sleeping to the sound
of fire burning me to the ground.
I am swaying with the tears of my mother
hitting silently as they fall,
everything that made me special
also put me up in flames.
What a sight,
all this destruction
pillars of smoke around my teeth,
rosy cheeks as I’m lowered into the grave
because it is I
and I am one
with the great Notre Dame
In destruction, we will find strength
Xan Abyss Apr 2015
Quasimodo, ringer of the bells
Quasimodo, hidden in his hell
Watching from the bell tower as life is squandered daily
Nobody seems to understand the truth of human frailty
But there they chime again!
It's that time again!
You know Quasimodo's still alive
Because the Bells are right on time

In the shadows of Notre Dame
A monster stalks our halls
A giant, hulking, hungry mass
Searching for ****** girls
It's the truth, don't you believe it?
The beast is out there creeping
It's much easier to see
than the demons we all keep
Under lock and key
Inside you and me

Quasimodo, ringer of the bells
Quasimodo, hidden in his hell
Watching from the bell tower as life is squandered daily
Nobody seems to understand the truth of human frailty
But there they chime again!
It's that time again!
Quasimodo's still alive
Because the Bells are right on time

A monster forged in hate
was a man who died for love
and though he suffered the slings and arrows
of the cursed world he lived above
Quasimodo died
as Quasimodo lived
Believing that the gift of love
was the best gift we could give.

Quasimodo, ringer of the bells
Quasimodo, dying in this cell
Lying in the crypt with arms wrapped tight 'round his beloved
Embracing his dark angel as eternally as love is
But it's that time again!
Why don't they chime this time?
The Halls of Notre Dame are still
Quasimodo must have died...
An ode to the 'Modo.

— The End —