Les perles perdues by H.Y Nept (motivational books for students .txt) đź“–
- Author: H.Y Nept
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A61, cars whizz by, flanks flashing in the sun
Here, a glimpse then gone. Glimmering, one
Flies by, engine revving as it ebbs into the past
An image, found then lost so fast: passed.
A face appears, a ghost as worlds collide,
An instant, the tide rips and the gap's too wide
She merges, on the brink of inexistence.
Gone, memory tearing into the distance
Hanging by a single thread, over the abyss
Of ignorance, and “ignorance is bliss”
What could have been does not cut so deep
For if I knew, what passed me by, I’d weep.
Happy stupidity, foolish glee, I drive by
Watching, eyes blank of joy, stare at the sky.
Dodge the pains, those empty “what if’s”
Car speeds up and away, away she drifts.
I rejoin the flood; her face flows in my blood.
Silk thighs, her bright, sly, slanted eyes
Stare, unabashed yet shy; a love to work and ply
As the baker kneads dough so must I
That pale un-tanned skin: snow
Soft, pure and cold (shivers). Rises in throes
Her curves, mountain peaks that froze
My gaze, cheeks red, set ablaze, sight a haze.
This sweet girl, with beauty for bait, I’m hooked
Like a fish dragged to surface to be cooked.
Turned over and over, a slow burner
Still, I love again, I'm a slow learner.
I gasp for air, she continues to stare,
As though to say “You wouldn’t dare”.
I lean forward to steal one last breath
I live still, but my heart brushed death.
As the shadows loom from mighty rooks,
The pawns are glancing furtive looks.
The board is set, white’s turn to move
Nervous, the horses stamp their hooves.
Black and white, a little world, few rules
Dark and light, pieces chucked away like tools
Into the fray, we play some deadly game
Unequal, unjust, pieces not worth the same.
Black and white, the old fight, think of the knight
Who leaves some lover, lonely in her plight.
To sit at her window, tears mingling in the wind
Bound to her lover, for fear of mortal sin.
The pawn a simple man, drawn from a simple life
Leaving behind a farm, his faithful wife
Sits all dressed in black, she lost her only right
The poor’s dowry, love and the bright rays of light
One’s gone the other seems dull, as pain ebbs
Now through empty fields, the lost widow treads.
This holy man, the bishop, following God’s call
Premonitions, hallucinations lead him to downfall
And the King above all, better than a pawn for he
Has learned the noble art of how to retreat
Avoid danger, see others sacrifice themselves but he
Will not go near any enemy if his safety is not guaranteed.
You, the old weary Titan who walk this hardened earth,
Each step a footprint, burst upon the surface, which shook in awe
Under the golden treasure which weighs in your mind’s purse
Deep thoughts in deeper heart were now upon bright crimson bore.
Most victorious red as hath been seen under moonlight sheen.
Decades past by, leaving grey shadows of wisdom flitting
And now “When you are old and grey and nodding by the fire”
Titan’s mind dreaming of times to be and times that have been.
Careful, weary you trudge through this cruel world
Through winds and monsoons which heaven hurled
Hateful destroyer that seeks to crush you O Titan, seeks to crush your will
Fills up your cup, it brims, frothing, bubbling about to spill.
Look over the edge, don’t jump Titan stay. Old anchor stay strong
Atlas… Titan, hold back the sky, live and right the wrong…
Dusk, a cricket beats those lively legs of lust,
Echoed by the wind who coughs up dust;
Crimson drips from hills whose heavy hearts heave to hide Him.
Nature merges: turquoise; colours and contrast seem dim
See Night’s mourning gown as she buries the last of light
Trees wave; majestic masts sailing to the night.
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, the world goes back to black…
Light spills through as the sky’s grey shell cracks.
In the first instants the world is no more,
But every closing night opens another door.
The wind sighs a hollow moan, as she whistles through the trees
Piercing the musky night, tortured laments are blowing in the breeze.
A thousand memories, shattered shards of glass, splinter my hands
As I reach out to grab, to seize, to hold: The keys to those lost lands.
What map could lead me back? What compass show me the way?
To the happy places of childhood, when all seemed good and gay…
In a time before, before… When all was new and beautiful to me
Now a whirlpool twists, pulls and binds me with lost joys. Free,
To do as she would please, I suffocate, breathing those memories
The wind sighs a hollow moan, as she whistles through the trees.
Melancholia, sits upon my doorstep, pale as a ghost of times passed
The times, those good times which came and went too fast…
Deep scars embedded in my skin, but deeper in my soul still.
Melancholia, watch the river of time as she turns that heavy mill.
Text: Typhen Brouillet-Lee
Publication Date: 08-04-2012
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