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Poezii Romnesti - Romanian Poetry

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The ancient gait
poetry [ ]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by [Devilwings ]

2009-03-25  |     | 



Tormented, depraved by thy corpse,
Rotting inside me the pain,
A funeral march in thy name,
O! Dance I thy funeral march
In bloody echoes of storm,

Gore, gore, gore on my lips,
In ashes sleeps rusted coffin of stone,
Dance I in thy gore, in thy grief,
Devour my wings as I fall
As futile leaves in the dawn,
The dawn of our love...

Exiled my wings! Betrayed by my kind,
Death poured in my arms thy angelical corpse:
Drowning the rain in black candles of light,
At night, they lighten the funeral source...

Let sleep the poet pale as death
And weep for my pain in its beauty,
Enchanted thy eyes with my cruelty,
The cruelty of living as dead,

So sad the sound of your steps,
Naked, remorseless as beauty,
Once young and frail... Oh! Death,
Why have you shown me thy cruelty?

Step, step as would I
In circles of visual pain,
Eternal autumn of mine,
Still dies alive and dies dead,

The forest whispers my name,
It calls to me, stoned body of wine,
Egotistical shines all the same:
The desire of crime...

Ropes of rain round her neck,
Same smoke that choked all my grief,
Hanging paralyzed, wet ,
Above all trees, laying dead;

Before God’s feet, I kneel and weep,
Such beauty asleep on those leaves,
Clasped in her wings, my broken heart seems:
A lonely ship in the winds,

Betrayed ,deprived of my life,
His will alone is to blame!
The pain, sharp as a knife,
The smell of blood in the rain...

Tamed down my flame, tears wave by wave,
Chained to my body, her voice,
Her eyes, her spirit... as toys,
As toys to a child, her gait,

Seven brides at the shores of her grave,
With burial echoes of wounds on my corpse:
Chiming: the bells of remorse,
Screams inside her: my spirit enslaved,

..........................................

Sweet music of lambs
Gently laugh at the slaughter...
Cruel smell of rain on my gore,
One by one, soul by soul:

We all reach a point where we shatter!

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