"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 !"
My nostril smells awesome inside of my nose,
a bit like the bloom of a newly-picked rose.
It started this morning--I couldn't say why--
and all day it's smelled like banana cream pie.
It has the aroma of freshly-baked bread
with hot melted butter and blackberry spread,
and maybe the breeze of a warm afternoon,
that follows a thunderstorm early in June.
It smells like a pine forest, right by a lake,
and chocolate chip cookies my mom likes to bake,
like kettle corn pop-popping over a fire,
and laundry, the moment it's out of the dryer.
My nostril smells awesome, so I have a plan
to sit and enjoy it as long as I can.
Don't ask how it happened; I really can't say.
Perhaps it's my finger that's smelling this way.
a bit like the bloom of a newly-picked rose.
It started this morning--I couldn't say why--
and all day it's smelled like banana cream pie.
It has the aroma of freshly-baked bread
with hot melted butter and blackberry spread,
and maybe the breeze of a warm afternoon,
that follows a thunderstorm early in June.
It smells like a pine forest, right by a lake,
and chocolate chip cookies my mom likes to bake,
like kettle corn pop-popping over a fire,
and laundry, the moment it's out of the dryer.
My nostril smells awesome, so I have a plan
to sit and enjoy it as long as I can.
Don't ask how it happened; I really can't say.
Perhaps it's my finger that's smelling this way.
The monochrome scenery in the dead of night
A pearly-white mist to blind your sight
Immortal chains to bind your soul
Immortal chains to set your goal.
Silence has set upon your life
Bestowed upon you like a cursed knife.
You must have knowledge through and through.
The Second World is haunting you.
Let your sorrows be set in stone
Carved down to the edge, to the skin, to the bone.
Let your sorrows be put to rest
And let them guide you along your quest.
I'll dance with you inside layered light
On jewels and gemstones shining bright.
You must have knowledge of what to do.
The Second World is haunting you.
A pearly-white mist to blind your sight
Immortal chains to bind your soul
Immortal chains to set your goal.
Silence has set upon your life
Bestowed upon you like a cursed knife.
You must have knowledge through and through.
The Second World is haunting you.
Let your sorrows be set in stone
Carved down to the edge, to the skin, to the bone.
Let your sorrows be put to rest
And let them guide you along your quest.
I'll dance with you inside layered light
On jewels and gemstones shining bright.
You must have knowledge of what to do.
The Second World is haunting you.
the world can takes overload
take my last breath, before i
inhel the semtums of death, before
i shed my last tear for help, my death
is calling in the hand of my friends.
my life has fallen deeper from my hands
to my feet i'm crawing can't speak,being
on top makes you weak with a foney smile
down to the ground, one of my friends is pulling
me down till i can't even make a sound.
I need help but me and God
both know that their is
nobody around.
somethimes darkness will never
fall down........
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.
