Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I’m indebted to the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations, 4th Edition 1996

Ab Imo Pectore

A
b imo pectore,
Blandae mendacia linguae,
Cadit quaestio,
Desunt cetera.
Est modus in rebus.
Faber est quisque fortunae suae,
Gigni de nihilo nihilum, in nihilum nil posse reverti.
Hic finis fandi,
Interdum stultus bene loquitur?
Jacta interdum est alea,
Labuntur et imputantur.
Magni nominis umbra,
Nec scire fas est omnia,
Omne crede diem tibi diluxisse supremun,
Pallida mors aequo pulsat pauperum tabernas regumque turres;
Quid rides, mutato nominee de te fibula narrator,
Res ipsa loquitur.
Solvitur ambulando…
Tempora mutantur, nos et matamur in illis.
Urbi et orbi,
Vestigia nulla retrorsum.



From The Bottom Of The Heart

From the bottom of the heart,  the falsehoods of a smooth tongue,
The question drops, the rest is wanting.
There is a balance in all things, every man is the creator of his own fate.
From nothing, nothing can come, into nothing, nothing can return.
Let there be an end to talking, for who can tell when a fool speaks the truth?
The die is sometimes already cast,
A moment comes and goes, and is laid to our account.
From the smallest shadow to the mightiest name,
No one can claim to know all things,
I believe that every day that dawns may be my last,
Pale death knocks impartially at both poor and rich men’s houses;
Don’t laugh, change the name and the story is yours,
It’s so obvious, it speaks for itself.
As the concept of motion is proven by walking…
So in time all things change, as we must, in time, all change.
And to all the world,
There’s no turning back.

Ab Imo Pectore / From The Bottom Of The Heart

Ab imo pectore,
From the bottom of the heart,
Blandae mendacia linguae,  
The falsehoods of a smooth tongue,
Cadit quaestio,
The question drops,
Desunt cetera.
The rest is found wanting.
Est modus in rebus,
There is a balance in all things,
Faber est quisque fortunae suae.
Every man is the creator of his own fate.
Gigni de nihilo nihilum, in nihilum nil posse reverti.
From nothing, nothing can come, into nothing, nothing can return.  
Hic finis fandi,
Let there be an end to talking,
Interdum stultus bene loquitur?
For who can tell when a fool speaks the truth?
Jacta interdum est alea.
The die is sometimes already cast,
Labuntur et imputantur.
A moment comes and goes, and is laid to our account.
Magni nominis umbra,
From the smallest shadow to the mightiest name,
Nec scire fas est omnia,
No one can claim to know all things,
Omne crede diem tibi diluxisse supremun,
I believe that every day that dawns may be my last,
Pallida  mors aequo pulsat pauperum tabernas regumque turres;
Pale death knocks impartially at both poor man and rich men’s houses;
Quid rides, mutato nominee de te fibula narrator,
Don’t laugh, change the name and the story is yours,
Res ipsa loquitur.
It’s so obvious, that it speaks for itself.
Solvitur ambulando…
As the concept of motion is proven by walking…
Tempora mutantur, nos et matamur in illis.
So in time all things change, as we must, in time, all change.
Urbi et orbi,
And to all the world,
Vestigia nulla retrorsum.
There’s no turning back.


r10.1
I didn’t write a ******* line of this, it’s all cribbed from a dictionary. But I’ll take the credit for its conception and, as good Systems Poetry should do, meaning and beauty appears spontaneously from the random juxtaposition of disparate lines of prose; like frogs from rotting wood…
Poet-Whisperer Jan 2015
I even though not a god,
Wanted to save a young damsel in distress
As she tread slow and silent
Clouding the sound of her footsteps
As she made her way from a forest
With a gentle lunacy
With a brutal yet true wisdom
Darkening the day,
I foolishly grab hold of the girl
Under a precarious moonlight
Cleaving the silence
Destroying the gods will
Setting a series of uncertainty and idiocy into play
She smiles, her gaze shifts
From gentle to stark Grimm
And I saw within overlaid wreaths
An imbued spirit with the name
“PAIN”
Ringing cries unknown, petrifying me in fear

You were a demon, a monster
One I had set free
You grew wings and scales
You grew bigger and bigger, with every lost cry
Your eyes blazed like the sun fierce
And you cried with words asking, No,
Begging to be saved
Your cry was carved deep into my mind
It was revealed to me then what a fool I was
Leaving me with a pale soul overflowing
With love, sorrow and a broken heart
You lost your life, you gave it away
And too what? a fool like me?
A nameless stray that can do nothing but betray
Now I simply lay as a curse blossoms inside my heart
Falling from a height concealed in plain sight
Awaiting my end at the hands of maybe another
Young, pathetic, unworthy, meaningless fool…
Lexie Mar 2019
Will my body forgive me
For the market I hold in her temple
Sins for a denarius
A farthing for a night under her tapestries
When you could be watching stars
Stars shine the same whether you clutch a ticket or a match
They love to be the last thing burning out at night
I am not close to their light
Burning seems of little consequence to me
Look upon the stars
Find them more patient than I in stamina
I more soluble in my regrets

The sun begins pulling cloud tears back from the earth
Agels whisper the innocence of the world into the atmosphere
The stratosphere knows nothing of our regrets
She does not see fingers crossed behind our backs
Knowing nothing of pennies given for promises
Promises given for free
Plastic coins for a lover
Nothing in my pockets for me

Hold your secrets under my skin
Knowing you let the night carry you away
You can take it back
These are the dreams in the desert
In the sun, under the mountains
Those who journey on foot
Knowing that knocking on doors means being turned away

My desire to cling to you
Is the cold that pushes you away
You are the oranges in the snow
A cold citrus kiss
I know your real name
With no courage to spit it out
These hands are clenched
No room for promises here
Between your fingers and skin
You grip regret so tight
One truth that will not abandon you
Biting not the hand that feeds
Go hungry
When a morsel is a memory
Dreams a feast to you
Regret devours all but bones

Anger has chosen your words for today
She is your strong horse
You will not bare the weight of the reins
A bit does not taste much of metal
When there is blood on your hands
Your prayer today
You have hope tomorrow, to hope for tomorrow
Time is a feather, fool
You give her flight for the price of falling
These coins in my pockets are for you
To make my steps lighter
A copper face is nothing
When you have seen the writing on the walls

e pluribus unum

they call me legion


How many hands will you give me
How many dealt
To count my sins on my fingers

misertus est enim stulti

stultus est misericordia sicut vilis ut eius precibus

When the walls speak will you listen
Translation for italicized sections
1. Out of one, many.
2. They call me legion for we are many. Demon cast out of a man speaking to Jesus. (Mark 5:9)
3. Pity is for fools.
4. A fool's mercy is as cheap as his prayers.

— The End —