I'm the creator of my own greatest disaster. I write for me a no one else. I want you all safe.
Please stick with the awful writing at the start of this collection. I started writing two years ago and have developed a lot.
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Homme libre, toujours cherche la mer
La mer et ton miroir; tu contemples ton âme
Dans le déroulement infini sa lame
Et ton esprit n'est pas un gouffre moins amer
Tu te plais à plonger au sein de ton image
Tu l'embrasses des yeux et ses bras, en ton coeur
Se distrait quelquefois de sa propre rumeur
Au bruit de cette plainte indomptable et sauvage
Vous êtes tous les deux ténébreux et discrets:
Homme, nul n'a sondé le fond de tes abîmes;
O mer, nul ne connaît tes riches intimes
Tant vous êtes jaloux de garder vos secrets
Et cependent voilà des siècles innombrables
Que vous vous combattez sans pitié ni remord
Tellement vous aimez le carnage et la mort
O lutteurs éternels, ô frères implacables.
THIS IS NOT MY POEM!!! IT IS A POEM BY CHARLES BAUDELAIRE, FROM A BOOK CALLED FLOWERS OF EVIL/FLEURS DU MAL. I was reading this book for french class and I really liked this poem.
Hey guys, as you can probably tell, this poem is in french. Here's the translation:
Free man, always looking for the sea
The sea and your mirror; you contemplate your soul
In the infinite unfolding its blade
And your mind is not a less bitter abyss
You like to dive into your image
You kiss her eyes and her arms, in your heart
Sometimes distracted from his own rumor
At the sound of this indomitable and savage complaint
You are both dark and discreet:
Man, no one has probed the depths of your abysses;
