The shards of dawn begin to fade,
A chaise and four move slow and still.
The mockingbird is whispering chill:
“A carriage holds a captive made.”
Je suis captif de mes folies —
An outcast, a jester, a sinner lost...
Yet in my heart, an ocean tossed
With love unspoken, wild and free...
In frozen clusters — a locket gleams:
So lovely, mon petit oiseau,
A pale tear falls, soft and slow,
On lace cuffs woven with dreams.
I betrayed your dream (So pure)
With wrists entwined in vice's snare.
In passion's whirl, a dark affair;
L'amour est mon illusion, for sure.
The coachman sits in silence near...
Kissing hope's tattered breast,
While ashes of memories rest,
Seeping poison, drawing near...
Fragments of love's chronicles lie,
And eternity in shadows deep.
I remain inconsolable, weep...
Je t'aime encore... Mais c'est la vie.
The notes of a gloomy poet
© Copyright: Дэниел Эдуардов-Мунтер, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125031306340
Свидетельство о публикации №125031306340
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