One time, once only, sweet, amiable woman,
On my arm your smooth arm
Rested (on the tenebrous background of my soul
That memory is not faded);
It was late; like a newly struck medal
The full moon spread its rays,
And the solemnity of the night streamed
Like a river over sleeping Paris.
And along the houses, under the porte-cocheres,
Cats passed by furtively,
With ears pricked up, or else, like beloved shades,
Slowly escorted us.
Suddenly, in the midst of that frank intimacy
Born in the pale moonlight,
From you, sonorous, rich instrument which vibrates
Only with radiant gaiety,
From you, clear and joyful as a fanfare
In the glistening morning light,
A plaintive note, a bizarre note
Escaped, faltering
Like a puny, filthy, sullen, horrible child,
Who would make his family blush,
And whom they have hidden for a long time
In a secret cellar.
Poor angel, it sang, your discordant note:
"That naught is certain here below,
That always, though it paint its face with utmost care
Man's selfishness reveals itself,
That it's a hard calling to be a lovely woman,
And that it is the banal task
Of the cold and silly danseuse who faints away
With a mechanical smile,
That to build on hearts is a foolish thing,
That all things break, love, and beauty,
Till Oblivion tosses them into his dosser
To give them back to Eternity!"
I've often evoked that enchanted moon,
The silence and the languidness,
And that horrible confidence whispered
In the heart's confessional.
**************************************************
CONFESSION
Une fois, une seule, aimable et douce femme,
À mon bras votre bras poli
S'appuya (sur le fond ténébreux de mon âme
Ce souvenir n'est point pâli);
II était tard; ainsi qu'une médaille neuve
La pleine lune s'étalait,
Et la solennité de la nuit, comme un fleuve,
Sur Paris dormant ruisselait.
Et le long des maisons, sous les portes cochères,
Des chats passaient furtivement
L'oreille au guet, ou bien, comme des ombres chères,
Nous accompagnaient lentement.
Tout à coup, au milieu de l'intimité libre
Eclose à la pâle clarté
De vous, riche et sonore instrument où ne vibre
Que la radieuse gaieté,
De vous, claire et joyeuse ainsi qu'une fanfare
Dans le matin étincelant
Une note plaintive, une note bizarre
S'échappa, tout en chancelant
Comme une enfant chétive, horrible, sombre, immonde,
Dont sa famille rougirait,
Et qu'elle aurait longtemps, pour la cacher au monde,
Dans un caveau mise au secret.
Pauvre ange, elle chantait, votre note criarde:
«Que rien ici-bas n'est certain,
Et que toujours, avec quelque soin qu'il se farde,
Se trahit l'égoïsme humain;
Que c'est un dur métier que d'être belle femme,
Et que c'est le travail banal
De la danseuse folle et froide qui se pâme
Dans son sourire machinal;
Que bâtir sur les coeurs est une chose sotte;
Que tout craque, amour et beauté,
Jusqu'à ce que l'Oubli les jette dans sa hotte
Pour les rendre à l'Eternité!»
J'ai souvent évoqué cette lune enchantée,
Ce silence et cette langueur,
Et cette confidence horrible chuchotée
Au confessionnal du coeur.
On my arm your smooth arm
Rested (on the tenebrous background of my soul
That memory is not faded);
It was late; like a newly struck medal
The full moon spread its rays,
And the solemnity of the night streamed
Like a river over sleeping Paris.
And along the houses, under the porte-cocheres,
Cats passed by furtively,
With ears pricked up, or else, like beloved shades,
Slowly escorted us.
Suddenly, in the midst of that frank intimacy
Born in the pale moonlight,
From you, sonorous, rich instrument which vibrates
Only with radiant gaiety,
From you, clear and joyful as a fanfare
In the glistening morning light,
A plaintive note, a bizarre note
Escaped, faltering
Like a puny, filthy, sullen, horrible child,
Who would make his family blush,
And whom they have hidden for a long time
In a secret cellar.
Poor angel, it sang, your discordant note:
"That naught is certain here below,
That always, though it paint its face with utmost care
Man's selfishness reveals itself,
That it's a hard calling to be a lovely woman,
And that it is the banal task
Of the cold and silly danseuse who faints away
With a mechanical smile,
That to build on hearts is a foolish thing,
That all things break, love, and beauty,
Till Oblivion tosses them into his dosser
To give them back to Eternity!"
I've often evoked that enchanted moon,
The silence and the languidness,
And that horrible confidence whispered
In the heart's confessional.
**************************************************
CONFESSION
Une fois, une seule, aimable et douce femme,
À mon bras votre bras poli
S'appuya (sur le fond ténébreux de mon âme
Ce souvenir n'est point pâli);
II était tard; ainsi qu'une médaille neuve
La pleine lune s'étalait,
Et la solennité de la nuit, comme un fleuve,
Sur Paris dormant ruisselait.
Et le long des maisons, sous les portes cochères,
Des chats passaient furtivement
L'oreille au guet, ou bien, comme des ombres chères,
Nous accompagnaient lentement.
Tout à coup, au milieu de l'intimité libre
Eclose à la pâle clarté
De vous, riche et sonore instrument où ne vibre
Que la radieuse gaieté,
De vous, claire et joyeuse ainsi qu'une fanfare
Dans le matin étincelant
Une note plaintive, une note bizarre
S'échappa, tout en chancelant
Comme une enfant chétive, horrible, sombre, immonde,
Dont sa famille rougirait,
Et qu'elle aurait longtemps, pour la cacher au monde,
Dans un caveau mise au secret.
Pauvre ange, elle chantait, votre note criarde:
«Que rien ici-bas n'est certain,
Et que toujours, avec quelque soin qu'il se farde,
Se trahit l'égoïsme humain;
Que c'est un dur métier que d'être belle femme,
Et que c'est le travail banal
De la danseuse folle et froide qui se pâme
Dans son sourire machinal;
Que bâtir sur les coeurs est une chose sotte;
Que tout craque, amour et beauté,
Jusqu'à ce que l'Oubli les jette dans sa hotte
Pour les rendre à l'Eternité!»
J'ai souvent évoqué cette lune enchantée,
Ce silence et cette langueur,
Et cette confidence horrible chuchotée
Au confessionnal du coeur.
This poem is written by me
My eyes are heavy
Can't hold load of tears
Plants look so blank
And autumn winds can be hear.
The flowers will no more bloom
I'll keep myself locked in room
They just love theirselves
Knows my story each book of my shelf.
Why every time spring ends,autumn starts
I wish I could buy happiness from some marts
Smell the same those flowers beside the stream that flow
I wonder how every time they grow .
These hard winds of sorrows make me shatter
Every time flowers and petals scatter
But I know I'll find the plants the same
I'll make them show the me and my fame.
I know someday the flowers will bloom again
It's a circle attached by a chain
Someday the spring will come back at my door
I will then say my worries are no more.
Autumn leaves scar but spring recovers each flower
Leaves will sure be green,flowers will bloom
Hopes will find their ways
Spring will come again someday.....
My eyes are heavy
Can't hold load of tears
Plants look so blank
And autumn winds can be hear.
The flowers will no more bloom
I'll keep myself locked in room
They just love theirselves
Knows my story each book of my shelf.
Why every time spring ends,autumn starts
I wish I could buy happiness from some marts
Smell the same those flowers beside the stream that flow
I wonder how every time they grow .
These hard winds of sorrows make me shatter
Every time flowers and petals scatter
But I know I'll find the plants the same
I'll make them show the me and my fame.
I know someday the flowers will bloom again
It's a circle attached by a chain
Someday the spring will come back at my door
I will then say my worries are no more.
Autumn leaves scar but spring recovers each flower
Leaves will sure be green,flowers will bloom
Hopes will find their ways
Spring will come again someday.....
I DID NOT WRITE THIS POEM. I FOUND IT ON FACEBOOK. The page was called The Writer's Circle, I think.
Today was the absolute worst day ever
And don't try to convince me that
There's something good in every day
Because, if you take a closer look,
The world is a pretty evil place.
Even if
Some goodness does shine through once in a while
Satisfaction and happiness doesn't last
And it's not true that
It's all in the mind and heart
Because
True happiness can be obtained
Only if one's surroundings are good
It's not true that good exists
The reality
Creates
My attitude
It's all beyond my control
And you'll never in a million years hear me me say that
Today was a good day.
(Now read it from the bottom up)
Today was the absolute worst day ever
And don't try to convince me that
There's something good in every day
Because, if you take a closer look,
The world is a pretty evil place.
Even if
Some goodness does shine through once in a while
Satisfaction and happiness doesn't last
And it's not true that
It's all in the mind and heart
Because
True happiness can be obtained
Only if one's surroundings are good
It's not true that good exists
The reality
Creates
My attitude
It's all beyond my control
And you'll never in a million years hear me me say that
Today was a good day.
(Now read it from the bottom up)
but still
so many people
around you.
You hide,
you run,
you don't want
them to see you.
Wrapped by fear
you can not escape.
You hide,
you run,
you don't want them
to see you.
Your thoughts
are the only thing
you can hear
clearly,
questions everywhere,
you don't want
to be there.
You hide,
you run,
you don't want them
to see you.
Life
still holds you,
but you feel dead.
Prayer!
Is it all
that is left?
It soothes you,
that moment
of silence.
You hide,
you run,
you don't want them
to see you.
Frozen tears,
soul filled of toss,
darkness stains
your mind,
makes you go insane.
You hide,
you run,
you don't want them
to see you.