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Dreams will make you happy,
And dreams will make you sad,
They get you away from this world so bad
But when you return comes melancholy.
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Tag Archives: vandergeid
The Downwards Movement of Dihydrogen Monoxide Crystals
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Pieces of hard water are falling from above,
They fill the emptiness of what we call the sky
With their strange yet stunning geometrical shapes,
‘Tis quite hard to see in this white obscurity,
As slow inverted steam settles down in layers.
It doesn’t make a sound and fits air like a glove,
It’s white and light and frail, and cold and wet and dry,
I wanted this so bad, it all seems like a dream,
Like the world itself is answering my prayers,
Drowning all my senses in this rare purity.
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Snow is falling
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White snow is falling,
Footsteps are crunching,
I know he’s stalling
And that I’m rushing.
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The white wizard
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They come from the cold howling blizzard,
A magician from the Order Grey
Accompanied by a white wizard,
To prevent him from going astray.
Far away from his land, he travels,
Plenty mysteries he unravels,
Looking among many a question
For an answer to his obsession.
The ancient ones have long left behind,
In their temples worn out by the wind,
Secrets unknown, hidden to mankind,
Of which he is trying to unwind
The deeper meaning, to understand
Mighty powers he now has at hand.
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Phoenix on a window
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‘Tis a majestic bird of sun and fire,
Burning, bright and blinding, of pure white light,
Its divine image deep into my soul,
It shines upon me, never taking flight
But in my eyes soaring ever higher,
Making me once again complete and whole.
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Hey
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Hey, how are you doing
Babe, are you doing fine?
Seems to me you’re dying
Inside, dread genuine,
Like you’re slowly treading
To the end of the line…
Remember, no lying,
I am yours, you are mine.
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Leur soleil
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Sous la lumière rose
De l’astre coloré –
Inspirant non la prose
Mais de courts vers rimés –
Tous ces gueux, sans triomphe,
Privés de leur gaieté,
Sous les branches du romphe,
Ce haut ciel piqueté,
Pauvres spectres de peur,
Seuls, fantômes sceptiques,
Tentent de rebâtir
Leurs petits cœurs blessés,
Car nul ne veut partir
Et tout, derrière, laisser.
De changer l’existence
Privée de tout repère,
D’achever leur errance
En quête de leur père.
Dans ce maelström d’étoiles,
En secret vénéneux,
L’existence s’étiole
Par poison lumineux.
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The woman in red
Room in New York, Edward Hopper
The woman
That’s a Do. Or is it a Re? Might it be a Fa? I really don’t know. I should have taken lessons when I had the chance, perhaps I’d be able to recognize the notes I’m playing right now… Would he know, him, if I asked? Maybe. Maybe not. Music is not really his ‘thing’ after all. He never was an amateur of concerts or music in general. That’s a Si, isn’t it? Is the piano even tuned? I can’t say. Why does he have a piano, by the way? Was it here when he moved in or did he acquire it afterwards? It must have surely helped him seduce women, he was such a ladies man… I should ask him. But would he listen? I’m not sure, seeing how he is focused… God, what a bore! We’ve been here for almost half an hour already and he hasn’t once looked up from his newspaper. He doesn’t care about anything else. He hasn’t even spoken more than a word… I know he enjoys the silence, he likes to be in a calm place to read it, and I understand it. But that doesn’t stop him from something, he could at least look at me, I don’t know. I am his wife, I know that very well, which means he doesn’t really have to win my heart, but I am not an object! I’d like him to look at me, to talk to me as he did before, when I wasn’t ‘acquired’. No, I don’t miss that time but… I make efforts to be especially enjoyable to look at and not even a glance, not a single sweet word. He had promised that we would spend an enjoyable and intimate evening, and he dares to ignore me… What a boor!
I started writing this in school during a free-writing lesson, we had been assigned a painting in pairs, mine was the one you can see above, and each of us had to write the point of view of one of the two characters. So here is my take on the woman’s thoughts at that moment. Enjoy!
Grand finale
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Will it come with a bang?-
Once echoes the last clang-
Or end in a whimper?
Will it yet come at all-
Answering the bells’ call-
To hush all this whisper?
‘Tis indeed a strange thing
That the end of the world,
All around dances, whirled.
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Would you rather?
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Hey, what would you rather:
Slit open your own veins
Or just shoot out your brains?
Whichever is faster?
Whichever deals less pain?
Oh, you don’t understand,
This not a last stand,
This is not about gain…
Whatever happens friend,
Once on the other side,
None of this will abide,
You lose it all, the end.
So tell me now, stranger,
Want to die together?
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Eh, a bit gloomy, I know. But what can I say, I felt inspired…
Tales of Ore 
