A man is sitting with demons
Inside his head.
In this room of memories,
Only death breathes,
A man lives with gloom,
A man dies with sadness.
Inside his eyes ,
In that depth of blue terror,
Years of despair are seen,
Years of struggle are painted.
His life,
Cruel and lonely,
Was never a joy,
Bitter and sad
This man lives with demons
Of past.
I can see the pain that
Is painted on his face,
Silhouettes of past that
Play this music of terror,
I see only darkness and despair
Inside the eyes of a sad man.
This sadness is mine too,
This poem is written by the curse of
The children who will never meet happiness,
This poem is a poem of a sad man,
A man who sees nothing but greys.
true friends are hard to come by...
yet when you catch them you feel like you can fly...
you trust them,
love them,
and talk of future...
you know that they will never lie...
and next to them you stand side by side...
you love them,
hug them,
and share smiles with eachother...
oh how it feels when you know your important...
that you know you have some one to comfort you...
you hold their hand,
skip down the street,
and feel no defeat...
true friends are hard to come by...
but hold them tight so away they dont fly.
yet when you catch them you feel like you can fly...
you trust them,
love them,
and talk of future...
you know that they will never lie...
and next to them you stand side by side...
you love them,
hug them,
and share smiles with eachother...
oh how it feels when you know your important...
that you know you have some one to comfort you...
you hold their hand,
skip down the street,
and feel no defeat...
true friends are hard to come by...
but hold them tight so away they dont fly.
I bought a pet banana
and I tried to teach him tricks,
but he wasn't any good at
catching balls or fetching sticks.
He could never catch a Frisbee,
and he wouldn't sit or speak,
though we practiced every afternoon
and evening for a week.
He refused to shake or wave or crawl
or beg or take a bow,
and I tried, but couldn't make him bark
or get him to meow.
He was terrible at playing dead.
He couldn't jump a rope.
When he wouldn't do a single trick
I simply gave up hope.
Though I liked my pet banana,
I returned him with regret.
Boy, I sure do hope this watermelon
makes a better pet.
and I tried to teach him tricks,
but he wasn't any good at
catching balls or fetching sticks.
He could never catch a Frisbee,
and he wouldn't sit or speak,
though we practiced every afternoon
and evening for a week.
He refused to shake or wave or crawl
or beg or take a bow,
and I tried, but couldn't make him bark
or get him to meow.
He was terrible at playing dead.
He couldn't jump a rope.
When he wouldn't do a single trick
I simply gave up hope.
Though I liked my pet banana,
I returned him with regret.
Boy, I sure do hope this watermelon
makes a better pet.
"What of the dews of dawn,
Love's flower, what end is theirs ?"
"And what of spirits flown,
The souls whereon doth close
The tomb's mouth unawares ?"
The Rose said to the Grave.
The Rose said, "In the shade
From the dawn's tears is made
A perfume faint and strange,
Amber and honey sweet."
"And all the spirits fleet
Do suffer a sky-change,
More strangely than the dew,
To God's own angels new,"
The Grave said to the Rose.
*****************************************************
LA TOMBE DIT A LA ROSE
La tombe dit à la rose :
"Des pleurs dont l'aube t'arrose
Que fais-tu, fleur des amours ?"
La rose dit à la tombe :
"Que fais-tu de ce qui tombe
Dans ton gouffre ouvert toujours ?"
La rose dit : "Tombeau sombre,
De ces pleurs je fais dans l'ombre
Un parfum d'ambre et de miel."
La tombe dit : " Fleur plaintive,
De chaque âme qui m'arrive
Je fais un ange du ciel !"
