.

Stay awake,

Take a breath,

Keep moving,

Step by step,

If you stop then all is lost,

Or if you stare at the cost

Then forget whatfor you wish

And watch precious dreams vanish,

If you just wait for the day

That success shall come to you

Then do be ready to pay

For all what you did too few,

Let your heart

Rest a while,

Close your eyes,

Sleep tonight,

What you may not do today

You can achieve tomorrow,

If you seem to lose your way

Look afar for the lighthouse

And remember: the sorrow

Stops not even the small mouse,

Wait for light

And sunrise,

Fake a smile,

Play your part,

But follow words of the wise :

Do as if until you can,

And before long the disguise

Will have yielded to the man,

Do it well enough for some

If in doubt or simply lost,

The next step shall always come

And the cold heart will defrost,

In evening

As in morn

You are you,

You are strong.

.

Hmmm, somehow it will, have faith in your trust.

Cheesy but eh…

.

Pourquoi sors-je la nuit, au froid et à la lune,

Dans le vent muet du nord, et sous ses mains mouillées?

Il est vrai, je la fuis, tout droit jusqu’à la dune,

Mais ai-je peur du noir ou bien d’être fouillé?

Quand, dehors, la tempête bat son plein et éclate,

Moi, logeant en ces lieux, assis au coin du feu,

J’admire et je tapote sur cette vitre plate

Car j’aimerais bien mieux jouer à ce petit jeu

Que l’on appelle amour. Pourtant je reste coi.

Quoi donc? demandez-vous. Couare, réponds-je.

Car dès lors qu’alors dort l’or du fou qui adore,

C’est avec fort humour, au contraire d’humeur,

Que les perles d’aqua tiquent au rythme toque,

Et tac! je me défais et comble les fissures;

J’aime battre les flots mais le rivage est sûr.

.

Tout est parti de la citation suivante : “Le rivage est sûr, mais j’aime me battre contre les flots.”

.

The strangest pain of all

Is when you realize

That the end’s not the fall

But the smiles and the lies;

The oldest, deepest pain

Is the one of the heart,

The one that leaves a stain

Nevermore to depart;

The grandest pain there is

Is the soft, little prick

That Time, and all that’s His,

Sow with each tick and trick;

But the one that I fear

Is the pain of the start,

The one that grows so near

Yet, in which I’ve no part…

.

The one I shall not feel.

.

Roger, roger, sweet Caroline

I got your message loud and clear

You now have my heart on a line

I trust you to hold it steady

The wind carries us through the air

Far above the clouds with no fear

And I can do nothing but stare

While thinking I may be ready.

.

Wherever you go I follow for you are my wind and I your sail.

.

A cold and silent winter rain

Falls under these strangely cloudless skies,

Who could divine the godly intent

Concealed behind this Rubicon of tears?

Perhaps then, in the end, shall

Come words for which I yearn…

.

Qu’on cille, dont fils…

.

The weather is indeed nice

But this soft gale does entice

In me one of my darker vice:

A heart dancing on thin ice.

I twirl and spin, I flash a smile,

I run, I jump, all in style,

Fearing the fall all the while,

And yet going the extra mile

Just to watch the raven’s flight

In the deepest, starry night,

Always from a distant sight

For I remain the one-who-might…

.

My body is water.

.

Tout ce qui est perdu

Peut-être retrouvé.

Ce que temps a mordu

Doit bien être éprouvé,

Qu’importe qu’il efface

Jusqu’à l’ultime trace,

La douleur dans l’attente

Est toujours la plus vive,

Même depuis la rive

De verdure éclatante;

Et à défaut de verve

(Pour peu que cela serve)

Le vieux passeur écoute

– Sa patience infinie –

Toutes vos peurs, vos doutes,

La triste symphonie

Qui un beau jour submerge

L’enfant jouant sur la berge,

Sans jamais dire mot,

Sans chaleur ni froidure,

Comme un frère jumeau

Qui lui aussi endure.

.

C’est la valse de rêves

Jamais réalisés

Qui apporte une trêve

Au vieux coeur enlisé.

.

Juliet, oh Juliet,

Do you not hear me avidly singing this ballad?

Juliet, o Juliet,

Do you not see me dancing this foolish step?

Juliet, dear Juliet,

Do you not feel the soft touch of my love on your soul?

Juliet, my Juliet,

Can you not, too, smell our burning passion’s sweet fragrance?

Juliet, say, Juliet,

Will you not allow us to taste the fruit of our efforts?

Juliet, why Juliet…?

.

Tried to create a possible double-edged poem with this one; one candid reading, and another more… creepy. Not entirely satisfied with the result though…

.

You have found a notebook on the ground

A bit dusty and a bit old

Open to a page not yet complete

With doodles and scribbles of unknown sense,

You take a moment to contemplate

The strange object lying at your feet –

It is not yours; why is it there, open?

You hesitate but pick it up,

An unsure hand flips it around

As a finger deftly saves the page.

Slowly you start strolling through the years

Walking besides the silent shadow

From room to room, from song to song,

You see the smiles, you smell the tears,

You hear the warmth, you feel the lone.

As you wonder “Is this okay?”

You see your name written in blue

And elegant yet childish cursive

At the bottom of the next page.

You stop. The next breath comes less easy,

And the hearts seems to skip a bit,

You look again yet there it is, clear,

Passed blue letters on golden page,

What does this mean? What should you do?

The universe begins to collapse

And another is born instead

When finally you let, intrigued,

The adventure call you once more

Just as the ocean did that day,

You sail the seas of ink and paper

Carried always further by gales of thoughts,

It feels refreshing and yet familiar

But your finger eludes the clue

So, as your mind races the waves

Of memories and dear old hopes,

Your heart desperately tries to catch up

To the ship at the horizon.

Will you or will you not make it?

What the future holds is uncertain

Though your are sure, you somehow know,

The goal will be worth the journey

And the journey shall be the goal,

You turn the page and then no more –

The blank. Fear could arise, and panic too,

But a smile creeps upon your lips –

Oh you know it will be alright;

A feather falls into your palm

As you start writing one more verse,

‘Tis not the last, ’tis not the first,

‘Tis the one that means the least

To the forest of thunderclouds

And yet, perhaps, that says the most:

You are the sweet verve to my bitter symphony.

.

Video killed the radio star.