Every means of communication what is call languages are mysteries
I am a foreigner in an insulated capsule
I taste. I explore. I take samples to try and break loneliness
I'm learning. Maybe, one day, I will be truely able to write and talk.

vendredi 5 mars 2010

Despair (part II) by Lord Alfred TENNYSON



What did I feel that night? You are curious. How should I tell?
Does it matter so much what I felt? You rescued me—yet—was it well
That you came unwish’d for, uncall’d, between me and the deep and my doom,
Three days since, three more dark days of the Godless gloom
Of a life without sun, without health, with out hope, without any delight
In anything here upon earth? but ah God, that night, that night
When the rolling eyes of the lighthouse there on the fatal neck
Of land running out into rock—they had saved many hundreds from wreck—
Glared on our way toward death, I remember I thought, as we past,
Does it matter how many they saved? we are all of us wreck’d at last—
‘Do you fear?’ and there came thro’ the roar of the breaker a whisper, a breath,
‘Fear? am I not with you? I am frighted at life not death.’


Lord Alfred TENNYSON

lundi 1 mars 2010

Phoenix by Joe SEPHOZA


so often thoughts wander
I'm not laughing
while thinking
- being haunted
behind me, spinning, turning
the wheel of fortune
and slowly
in distorting mirrors
to blind my dream
of who I would be, if alive

they do have a limp, sumbling up the stairs towards the seat
where my life, partly, dies
the other half of misery
is reality's phoenix

empty grave
cold bones
I might laugh
once dead

sometimes - friendly - they ask me
'who's that stranger'
they don't know
and I
a stranger to myself

midnight in longing
I close a freudian pact
with my thoughts
and they return
tired of the world
in bed they're like the fantasy
of a one-night sleep
the sun turns me over
and falls asleep.

in :http://www.polumnia.net/writing/poetry.html