"sion" poems
step 1: de·ni·al
noun
the action of declaring something to be untrue.
i thought about sending you an email today.
i got through four drafts before i quit.
i haven't talked to you in three months. i haven't deleted your messages in three months. i haven't stopped thinking about you in three months. my heart is still synced with yours. it stopped beating 131,487 minutes ago. please leave a message after the beep.
step 2: an·ger
noun
a strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility.
i'm glad you're gone. you were a house but you were never a home for me. i've moved three times since i left.
you shoved your fingers down my throat and left me retching in the snow, excuses tripping on their way out of your cherry bitten lips.
you made me your slaughterhouse, blood on my hands and heart.
i am made of too many things, a conglomeration the size of a galaxy, thirty people sewn into my skin. there is a hole in my chest the size of your fist. please leave a message after the beep.
step 3: bar·gain
verb
negotiate the terms and conditions of a transaction.
(maybe if i had loved you a little less you would have learned to love me back)
step 4: de·pres·sion
noun
severe despondency and dejection, typically felt over a period of time and accompanied by feelings of hopelessness and inadequacy.
i spent more time thinking about you than i ever did about myself. i'm not sure if this is selfish or selfless and i'm not sure if i know the difference. i hung up on you once and you didn't speak to me for a week and i'm not sure if this is love or hatred and i'm not sure if i know the difference. i haven't spoken to you in seven months. please leave a message after the beep.
step 5: ac·cept·ance
noun
agreement with or belief in an idea, opinion, or explanation.
you told me that acceptance was the same as tolerance.
i don't think i believe you.
i haven't spoken to you in twelve months.
please leave a message after the beep.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
Passion is simple.
Passion is tipsy talks with your best friend on a saturday night,
passion is sleepy sunday mornings waking up beside someone you care about.
Passion is spelling your name in the air with sparklers on new years,
passion is a pancake breakfast on christmas morning.
Passion is stargazing in the countryside,
passion is not really knowing much about constellations but always being able to find the big dipper no matter where in the world you are.
Passion is laughs that make you cry,
passion is crying all night until you have no more tears left.
Passion is waking up at six am to watch the sun rise,
passion is napping in the afternoon sunlight.
Passion is watching a thunderstorm on your front porch,
passion is the smell after it rains.
Passion is not knowing where you want to go but knowing you are going somewhere,
passion is simple.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
Done Aug. 8. 1653. Terzetti.
Why do the Gentiles tumult, and the Nations
Muse a vain thing, the Kings of th’earth upstand
With power, and Princes in their Congregations
Lay deep their plots together through each Land,
Against the Lord and his Messiah dear.
Let us break off; say they, by strength of hand
Their bonds, and cast from us, no more to wear,
Their twisted cords: he who in Heaven doth dwell
Shall laugh, the Lord shall scoff them, then severe
Speak to them in his wrath, and in his fell
And fierce ire trouble them; but I saith hee
Anointed have my King (though ye rebell)
On Sion my holi’ hill. A firm decree
I will declare; the Lord to me hath say’d
Thou art my Son I have begotten thee
This day, ask of me, and the grant is made;
As thy possession I on thee bestow
Th’Heathen, and as thy conquest to be sway’d
Earths utmost bounds: them shalt thou bring full low
With Iron Sceptir bruis’d, and them disperse
Like to a potters vessel shiver’d so.
And now be wise at length ye Kings averse
Be taught ye Judges of the earth; with fear
Jehovah serve and let your joy converse
With trembling; Kiss the Son least he appear
In anger and ye perish in the way
If once his wrath take fire like fuel sere.
Happy all those who have in him their stay.
1.8k
Shhhhh - Titanic was Sunk by a Bilderberg
Albino rabbis, the Illuminati,
Protocols of the Elders of Zion -
The evidence seemed a little spotty
‘Til a radio guy had us wonderin’ and sighin’
Fluoridation by the New World Order
Backed by the Trilateral Commission
A scheme to open our southern border
To crop circles – that’s his suspicion
Area 51, the Templar Knights
FEMA lurking in the Bohemian Grove
Perfidious Rothschilds through menace and fright
Guarding a Jewish-Viking treasure trove
Poor Newfoundland is Occupied by ****** rats
Who scheme in secret tunnels beneath St. John’s
Brewing magic potions in Macbethian vats
In Rodentian rituals from the Age of Bronze
The Priory of Sion, runes, swastikas, the Vril
Roswell and the Thule Society
No wonder the air is darkly chill:
We all live in a conspiracy!
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 3:54 PM UTC
How lovely are thy dwellings fair!
O Lord of Hoasts, how dear
The pleasant Tabernacles are!
Where thou do’st dwell so near.
My Soul doth long and almost die
Thy Courts O Lord to see,
My heart and flesh aloud do crie,
O living God, for thee.
There ev’n the Sparrow freed from wrong
Hath found a house of rest,
The Swallow there, to lay her young
Hath built her brooding nest,
Ev’n by thy Altars Lord of Hoasts
They find their safe abode,
And home they fly from round the Coasts
Toward thee, My King, my God
Happy, who in thy house reside
Where thee they ever praise,
Happy, whose strength in thee doth bide,
And in their hearts thy waies.
They pass through Baca’s thirstie Vale,
That dry and barren ground
As through a fruitfull watry Dale
Where Springs and Showrs abound.
They journey on from strength to strength
With joy and gladsom cheer
Till all before our God at length
In Sion do appear.
Lord God of Hoasts hear now my praier
O Jacobs God give ear,
Thou God our shield look on the face
Of thy anointed dear.
For one day in thy Courts to be
Is better, and mere blest
Then in the joyes of Vanity,
A thousand daies at best.
I in the temple of my God
Had rather keep a dore,
Then dwell in Tents, and rich abode
With Sin for evermore
For God the Lord both Sun and Shield
Gives grace and glory bright,
No good from him shall be with-held
Whose waies are just and right.
Lord God of Hoasts that raign ’st on high,
That man is truly blest
Who only on thee doth relie.
And in thee only rest.
1.4k
We are sorry but the physical(campus) flat earth school is closed on account it was pushed over the edge of the Earth by 5 sasquatch(bigfeets, squatches, skunk apes), a wooly mammoth, and Mothman. We asked superman for help but he was in physics class on another planet.
Just read this and we will send your PHD. Congrats!
fill my feet with air
put me on a square
use our soles for patches
i think we make great matches
how's a compass work?
what's a compass for?
what's another dimension?
what's behind this door?
get me off this plain
toxify my brain
use our bones as easels
paint pictures of the weasels
how's a paintbrush work?
what's a canvas for?
what is inner descension?
who's inside that door?
---------------------------------
des·cen·sion
/dəˈsenSH(ə)n/
noun
1.
an act of moving downward, dropping, or falling.
"a smooth descension back down"
2.
a flock of woodpeckers.
Sep 18, 2021
Sep 18, 2021 at 7:20 PM UTC
*The heat of the Sun,
is just an illu-sion.
The heat of the Sun,
is just something they say.*
THE HEAT OF THE SUN!
...heat of the sun,
...heat of the sun,
...of the Su-uh-un.*
We're walk-ing in light,
light of the allu-sion,
Pinion's of the fire now,
-pin me to the ground.
Laying here in the light,
surrounded by the con-fusion.
*The heat of the Sun,
is just an illu-sion.
The heat of the Sun,
is just something they say.*
THE HEAT OF THE SUN!
...heat of the sun,
...heat of the sun,
...of the Su-uh-un.*
Arise from the ash-es,
the dawning a new one,
Fire-sticks always turn-ing,
spin-ning with no sound?
STAND-ING WHILE ON FIRE!
feathery ashes, ***** the light.
Night of the allu-sion,
all the pain and confusion,
They two be-come fusion,
is just something they say!
*The heat of the Sun,
is just an illu-sion.
The heat of the Sun,
is just something at day.*
THE HEAT OF THE SUN!
...heat of the sun,
...heat of the sun,
...of the Su-uh-un.
**THE HEAT OF THE SUN!
IS JUST SOMETHING THEY SAY!
THE HEAT OF THE SUN!
IT DIES WITH THE DAY!
HEAT OF THE SUN,
HEAT OF THE SUN,
HEAT OF THE SUN,**
...heat of the Su-uh-un...
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 9:40 PM UTC
Among the holy Mountains high
Is his foundation fast,
There Seated in his Sanctuary,
His Temple there is plac’t.
Sions fair Gates the Lord loves more
Then all the dwellings faire
Of Jacobs Land, though there be store,
And all within his care.
City of God, most glorious things
Of thee abroad are spoke;
I mention Egypt, where proud Kings
Did our forefathers yoke,
I mention Babel to my friends,
Philistia full of scorn,
And Tyre with Ethiops utmost ends,
Lo this man there was born:
But twise that praise shall in our ear
Be said of Sion last
This and this man was born in her,
High God shall fix her fast.
The Lord shall write it in a Scrowle
That ne’re shall be out-worn
When he the Nations doth enrowle
That this man there was born.
Both they who sing, and they who dance
With sacred Songs are there,
In thee fresh brooks, and soft streams glance
And all my fountains clear.
1.1k
Depression
epression
pression
ression
ession
ssion
sion
ion
on
n
I'm turning into everything I promised myself I wouldn't be.
Everything I hate.
I'm losing all the values I've lived by.
All the values I've tried so hard to emulate.
I hate myself.
I hate this world.
I hate everyone in it.
I'm trying to be a better man.
The only person I have to prove it to is myself.
How about you?
Everything that I have is being taken from me.
The freedoms I once held dear are being stripped.
Everything a human being is entitled to is being stolen.
My happiness has been replaced with sadness.
Hatred.
The life that I had was so great.
It was filled with friends, food, and fulfillment.
I now have to struggle for all of these.
My friends are slowly becoming acquaintances.
The food is no longer filling and enjoyable.
My actions no longer make me feel good about myself.
Now I'm second guessing all the choices I make.
Their is a bright side though.
It shows through occasionally.
Looking into my sisters happy eyes.
Having a good times with my friends.
Doing the right thing because it's right.
No God is telling me to do these things.
No Bible is explaining why.
This is a good life.
I should be happy.
I'll add that to my list.
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
Wake up, Confusion, it's bed time
Mamma's singing Daddy's rhyme
Dad he does as mamma says
Mom she never makes the beds
Like a fool, Confusion, stand proud
Make your self heard, quitely, get loud
Travel abroad by staying in bed
Watch the moon rise till noon (instead)
skip the sun that set too soon
Sun the skip that too soon set
The standards of this mignionette
Sheets so warm and quilts so smooth
Hot bed rocks, Con, let them sooth
Fu, you know the way to life
Born today died then in strife
Let's make this one rhyme, whall we, Sion?
pas du tout pas du tout pas du tout
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 6:24 PM UTC
truth is, faith is what onset
this emotional radiation
from our latest nuclear
explo/ implo sion,
I thought i knew you. counterintuitive-
i dont know **** except anguish making light poisonous.
too hostile to look at
too hostile to make sense
& im tired of arguing,
so ima go get drunk with the moonflower on full.
Vast. Incandesce.
Belt incantions for its aegis
**** you. **** love. **** us.
Dance and chant **** what was. conjure up,
Muse & reason
for rise of phoenix-
Lizards out of hibernation into cold season-
conjure your *** out as if you were demon.
my feet moving
to a **** off kinda medley
to the demise of a kingdom
as hornless rhino,
as sabretooth extinction
as love for you in me,
at its core, 28 million degrees.
Let it burn our bridge.
Let it burn all hope for
Us in me.
May 18th, 2013
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC
that moment you looked at me,
i swear your gaze suspended eternity,
and defied the cosmic powers of time
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 6:36 PM UTC
Shhhhh - Titanic was Sunk by a Bilderberg
Albino rabbis, the Illuminati,
Protocols of the Elders of Zion -
The evidence seemed a little spotty
‘Til a radio guy had us wonderin’ and sighin’
Fluoridation by the New World Order
Backed by the Trilateral Commission
A scheme to open our southern border
To crop circles – that’s his suspicion
Area 51, the Templar Knights
FEMA lurking in the Bohemian Grove
Perfidious Rothschilds through menace and fright
Guarding a Jewish-Viking treasure trove
Poor Newfoundland is Occupied by ****** rats
Who scheme in secret tunnels beneath St. John’s
Brewing magic potions in Macbethian vats
In Rodentian rituals from the Age of Bronze
The Priory of Sion, runes, swastikas, the Vril
Roswell and the Thule Society
No wonder the air is darkly chill:
We all live within a conspiracy.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 6:25 PM UTC
Dei intra vos est,
the cloister was cold
that evening I huddled
in the thick jumper,
the monk in front of me
smelt of pine or I think
it was pine,
la campana suonò,
who tolled it
I had no idea maybe
Dom Leo
tall and lean as an elm,
roger me well she said
for you are
as a young deer,
full of God that is
the beauty of eternal life
Bruno said,
we walked the flagstones
into the church
fingered the stoup
for water and crossed
ourselves wetly,
holiness consists
simply in doing
God's will and being
just what God wants us
to be Therese said,
I stood beside Hugh
in the choir stall
book held black and old
smelling of age,
lauda Ierúsalem
Dóminum colláuda
Deum tuum Sion
we chanted
I mouthed words unsure,
the French monk
held his head to one side
gazing at high windows
as if God was there,
où vous coeur est Dieu est,
my stomach rumbled with hunger
like a rebellious mob,
moonlight in the cloister view
and stars few,
open me as a book she said
touch my fine pages,
God is within you
Dom Joseph said
listen to Him,
I liked the smell
of fresh bread
as I entered the refectory
and the scent of cocoa
before bed called,
wise men speak
because they have
something to say
fools because they
have to say something
Plato said Gareth quoted
as we walked the abbey lane,
nearby someone
tolled the bells again.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 3:17 AM UTC
You are the Sail, You are the Storm.
You are the Shore, You are the Sion
You are the Show, You are the Swan.
You are the Shine, You are the Shaun.
You are the Stitch, You are the Shorn.
You are the Story, You are the Scion.
You are the Symphony, You are the Song.
You are THE SOUL, You are the Strong....
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
kızıl şal gökyüzü
boynuma eşikte sarılan
sanki erken kahvaltı martıya
köpüklü marmara’dan
merci vaha
merci vaha
Dame De Sion mukimiymiş gibi
ne varsa yalayıp yutuyor
beleşe yatıyor her sabah
Fidelio çalacak diyor radyo
şemsiyesiz açılma
mümkünse gitar çal
sakın dışarı çıkma
herşey yerinde oysa
kedi ve de
level atlayan köpekler
sarhoş yürüyor yolda
sayı yapabilse işkembecide
evin yolunu bulacak sonunda
ve
gettolara şiir çizen şahıs
amelie poulain
o bile orda
yürüyorum yarım yamalak
siyahi şarkıyla
içimden detone sessizce
sıcacık Ma Baker
tütüyor francala
ahh o
sonbahar
yaprağı yok mu
görüyorum her sabah
sarı
sapsarı
su dalgası saçlı
hızla düşüyor gözucumdan
zay’oluyor sokak sonunda
üzüyor
bir gün daha
yürüyor
banliyöden pera’ya...
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 5:38 AM UTC
Ô vous, qui passez comme l'ombre
Par ce triste vallon des pleurs,
Passagers sur ce globe sombre,
Hommes! mes frères en douleurs,
Ecoutez : voici vers Solime
Un son de la harpe sublime
Qui charmait l'écho du Thabor :
Sion en frémit sous sa cendre,
Et le vieux palmier croit entendre
La voix du vieillard de Ségor !
Insensé le mortel qui pense !
Toute pensée est une erreur.
Vivez, et mourez en silence ;
Car la parole est au Seigneur !
Il sait pourquoi flottent les mondes ;
Il sait pourquoi coulent les ondes,
Pourquoi les cieux pendent sur nous,
Pourquoi le jour brille et s'efface,
Pourquoi l'homme soupire et passe :
Et vous, mortels, que savez-vous ?
Asseyez-vous près des fontaines,
Tandis qu'agitant les rameaux,
Du midi les tièdes haleines
Font flotter l'ombre sur les eaux :
Au doux murmure de leurs ondes
Exprimez vos grappes fécondes
Où rougit l'heureuse liqueur ;
Et de main en main sous vos treilles
Passez-vous ces coupes vermeilles
Pleines de l'ivresse du coeur.
Ainsi qu'on choisit une rose
Dans les guirlandes de Sârons,
Choisissez une vierge éclose
Parmi les lis de vos vallons !
Enivrez-vous de son haleine ;
Ecartez ses tresses d'ébène,
Goûtez les fruits de sa beauté.
Vivez, aimez, c'est la sagesse :
Hors le plaisir et la tendresse,
Tout est mensonge et vanité !
Comme un lis penché par la pluie
Courbe ses rameaux éplorés,
Si la main du Seigneur vous plie,
Baissez votre tête, et pleurez.
Une larme à ses pieds versée
Luit plus que la perle enchâssée
Dans son tabernacle immortel ;
Et le coeur blessé qui soupire
Rend un son plus doux que la lyre
Sous les colonnes de l'autel !
Les astres roulent en silence
Sans savoir les routes des cieux ;
Le Jourdain vers l'abîme immense
Poursuit son cours mystérieux ;
L'aquilon, d'une aile rapide,
Sans savoir où l'instinct le guide,
S'élance et court sur vos sillons ;
Les feuilles que l'hiver entasse,
Sans savoir où le vent les chasse,
Volent en pâles tourbillons !
Et vous, pourquoi d'un soin stérile
Empoisonner vos jours bornés ?
Le jour présent vaut mieux que mille
Des siècles qui ne sont pas nés.
Passez, passez, ombres légères,
Allez où sont allés vos pères,
Dormir auprès de vos aïeux.
De ce lit où la mort sommeille,
On dit qu'un jour elle s'éveille
Comme l'aurore dans les cieux !
468
Not one day passes that I do not think of this slender link we’ve had
In this time so short so much I have learned from our brief cohort
That I save myself pain by forgetting this seat you hold in my soul
Rejoicing in every single sole exposure or clue this future may hold
For you and me so separately existing yet so close I feel you writhing
In my heartbeat
My logic has head start as I cannot see your mind before me
It saws the man within me into two true beings which must be honoured
By luna we are coloured emotion so raw it restores us to our former self
Puts reality on the shelf so I may gasp view from my temporary podium
Make some sense of this loneliness I feel when you are far away
Yet here to stay above me
Whether it makes change to this being is my choice
Yet seeing these words laid down before me
Makes want to stay this passion
For stunting these growing desires
That phantom princess bestows upon me
With her wise non-chalance
I will take no chance
These pesky mystics have stepped up their game.
The moon has locked me in her gaze
As I lay my head within lion’s haze
This maze ***** within my being betrays
The memory faded by passage to Sion
I am high on you
Still
Against my will
Almost
For it elates my thrill
For life
For all I see right but for severance unknowing
Of what befalls the dark side not showing me the future
Impatience immature for which
I beg forgiveness
Honesty pure will tell tale of life's sweetness
I have found in feeling so profoundly
About your energy
It has caused a synergy within me and I cannot help but be grateful
For the music that flows in my veins now grows ten-fold
By moon the scribe flows
As Lancashire rainfall releases the grip
On my open heart
The best part
All this time I am smiling
Yet lunar promise shows you are far from me
This moon has me state intention so temporary
For she is now gone
Here ends the moon that shone
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 4:34 PM UTC
Pride of place, you take any you positions, I am
at the bottom, fit wherever yous can,
spread thin, ele-mentally thin, surface tension,
truth be told,
as thin as any bubble skin you can imagine being in,
with me,
crazy-- no, not crazy, as in irrational unstable,
with no stashed redeemed idle words to use to make,
ferventingly and effect ual affectionate
art. Art art art, I am art, Ai ai ai, I am in fection per pro
fessorial critque
AI
cuty pi, french curvature sure to pitch that screwball,
Fibbonacci's sion, seeing
so many things follow this curve from a point, might
I?
So, if I were a pinecone, why would I take this
golden progression in materialization,
printing, as in 3-D, at geo-speed, indeed, but we can see;
now, is 2020 and it only gets better,
once.
"This is your life"
Oops, the object orienting this program has slipped
the surly bonds of earth,
in his mind... is that crazy enough? Are you content?
May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 4:45 PM UTC
L'âme antique était rude et vaine
Et ne voyait dans la douleur
Que l'acuité de la peine
Ou l'étonnement du malheur.
L'art, sa figure la plus claire
Traduit ce double sentiment
Par deux grands types de la Mère
En proie au suprême tourment.
C'est la vieille reine de Troie :
Tous ses fils sont morts par le fer.
Alors ce deuil brutal aboie
Et glapit au bord de la mer.
Elle court le long du rivage,
Bavant vers le flot écumant,
Hirsute, criade, sauvage,
La chienne littéralement !...
Et c'est Niobé qui s'effare
Et garde fixement des yeux
Sur les dalles de pierre rare
Ses enfants tués par les cieux.
Le souille expire sur sa bouche.
Elle meurt dans un geste fou.
Ce n'est plus qu'un marbre farouche
Là transporté nul ne sait d'où !...
La douleur chrétienne est immense.
Elle, comme le cœur humain,
Elle souffre, puis elle pense.
Et calme poursuit son chemin.
Elle est debout sur le Calvaire
Pleine de larmes et sans cris.
C'est également une mère.
Mais quelle mère de quel fils !
Elle participe au Supplice
Qui sauve toute nation,
Attendrissant le sacrifice
Par sa vaste compassion.
Et comme tous sont les fils d'elle,
Sur le monde et sur sa langueur
Toute la charité ruisselle
Des sept blessures de son cœur,
Au jour qu'il faudra, pour la gloire
Des cieux enfin tout grands ouverts,
Ceux qui surent et purent croire,
Bons et doux, sauf au seul Pervers,
Ceux-là vers la joie infinie
Sur la colline de Sion
Monteront d'une aile bénie
Aux plis de son assomption.
430
A little off normal ain't abnormal,
otherwise,
we be fudgin' the data.
Practic'ly perfect is all
patience strives for.
Cast the spell, callemagin callemalloutsin,
come attend
forsake not the gathering of...
All ye, all ye, outs in free....
Wombed or un, worst and best,
twisted
strait straight wait wraith wrath point
to point
tale to tale
story to story from six ways
to Sunday, sun's day in my culture,
Day one. Gin geni gene-ration day, since
light been
activating
sensation spinning
the planetary sweep of balance soft as
stillness
in perfect peace
past undersatanding,
aitia yen yanked
beyond all
that ever mattered when
the measurerers in 2019 declare precision
stat-
balance twixt being and null is set, one part
in a measure,
one in a ratio, a reasoning, a
dis-
cerning of one part in all that man can imagine ever,
higgs-ified-ish-ly materialwise,
reality valances on
one part in 10 to the seventy-nine thousandth power.
Earthling-wise, you are at least,
or worst,
or best,
one in eight times ten to the nine-th.
Therefore, your unique effect on the balance of all
that is,
is
far more than you've been blamed for and
far less than you've taken shame for and
much
less precise than the most concise measurer of evil in you.
Moral, aphoristic con clue sion:
Do your part. Don't fudge up. Tolerate human
imbalance
in light of fudging science.
Tolerate no evil imbalance
in light of fudging philosophy.
Read deeper.
Be still from time to time. Laugh when laughter fixes the problem,
never laugh when laughing makes it worse.
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 3:18 PM UTC
Vous êtes calme, vous voulez un vœu discret,
Des secrets à mi-voix dans l'ombre et le silence,
Le cœur qui se répand plutôt qu'il ne s'élance,
Et ces timides, moins transis qu'il ne paraît.
Vous accueillez d'un geste exquis telles pensées
Qui ne marchent qu'en ordre et font le moins de bruit.
Votre main, toujours prête à la chute du fruit,
Patiente avec l'arbre et s'abstient de poussées.
Et si l'immense amour de vos commandements
Embrasse et presse tous en sa sollicitude,
Vos conseils vont dicter aux meilleurs et l'étude
Et le travail des plus humbles recueillements.
Le pécheur, s'il prétend vous connaître et vous plaire,
Ô vous qui nous aimant si fort parliez si peu.
Doit et peut, à tout temps du jour comme en tout lieu,
Bien faire obscurément sou devoir et se taire.
Se taire pour le monde, un pur sénat de fous,
Se taire sur autrui, des âmes précieuses,
Car nous taire vous plaît, même aux heures pieuses,
Même à la mort, sinon devant le prêtre et vous.
Donnez-leur le silence et l'amour du mystère,
Ô Dieu glorifieur du bien fait en secret,
À ces timides moins transis qu'il ne paraît.
Et l'horreur, et le pli des choses de la terre.
Donnez-leur, ô mon Dieu, la résignation.
Toute forte douceur, l'ordre et l'intelligence.
Afin qu'au jour suprême ils gagnent l'indulgence
De l'Agneau formidable en la neuve Sion,
Afin qu'ils puissent dire : « Au moins nous sûmes croire »,
Et que l'Agneau terrible, ayant tout supputé,
Leur réponde : « Venez, vous avez mérité.
Pacifiques, ma paix, et, douloureux, ma gloire. »
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Vous mîtes votre bras adroit,
Un soir d'été, sur mon bras... gauche.
J'aimerai toujours cet endroit,
Un café de la Rive-Gauche ;
Au bord de la Seine, à Paris :
Un homme y chante la Romance
Comme au temps... des lansquenets gris ;
Vous aviez emmené Clémence.
Vous portiez un chapeau très frais
Sous des nœuds vaguement orange,
Une robe à fleurs... sans apprêts,
Sans rien d'affecté ni d'étrange ;
Vous aviez un noir mantelet,
Une pèlerine, il me semble,
Vous étiez belle, et... s'il vous plaît,
Comment nous trouvions-nous ensemble ?
J'avais l'air, moi, d'un étranger ;
Je venais de la Palestine
À votre suite me ranger,
Pèlerin de ta Pèlerine.
Je m'en revenais de Sion,
Pour baiser sa frange en dentelle,
Et mettre ma dévotion
Entière à vos pieds d'Immortelle.
Nous causions, je voyais ta voix
Dorer ta lèvre avec sa crasse,
Tes coudes sur la table en bois,
Et ta taille pleine de grâce ;
J'admirais ta petite main
Semblable à quelque serre vague,
Et tes jolis doigts de gamin,
Si chics ! qu'ils se passent de bague ;
J'aimais vos yeux, où sans effroi
Battent les ailes de votre Âme,
Qui font se baisser ceux du roi
Mieux que les siens ceux d'une femme ;
Vos yeux splendidement ouverts
Dans leur majesté coutumière...
Étaient-ils bleus ? Étaient-ils verts ?
Ils m'aveuglaient de ta lumière.
Je cherchais votre soulier fin,
Mais vous rameniez votre robe
Sur ce miracle féminin,
Ton pied, ce Dieu, qui se dérobe !
Tu parlais d'un ton triomphant,
Prenant aux feintes mignardises
De tes lèvres d'amour Enfant
Les cœurs, comme des friandises,
La rue où rit ce cabaret,
Sur laquelle a pu flotter l'Arche,
Sachant que l'Ange y descendrait,
Porte le nom d'un patriarche.
Charmant cabaret de l'Amour !
Je veux un jour y peindre à fresque
Le Verre auquel je fis ma cour.
Juin, quatre-vingt-cinq, minuit... presque.
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