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AGNUS Dei (PART ONE)
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HOLLOW WORDS TURN TO POETRY. AGNUS Dei (PART ONE)
Can you hear the call of the ziganes? Their vitriolic throats filtering the air, to spite the names of their love’s one, with fork tongues!
The blossom sky breaking under the spell of their long banshees, leaving places, to dusty golden wounds on his greyish face.
Hypnotic ghosts piercing through the ashes of their ancestors, flowers searching for new hopes…
Children’s of the holocaust, phoenix of a new millennium…
Keep growing, holding tight, twisted around the fine line of life!
And as the bursting lips of the clouds gave their last remorseful wet cry, the call of the ziganes invade the space with ever more fervour!
The world wears his most dignified black dress, to come and pay tribute to his burn’s one.
His windy fingers felting the rusty wires, where so many hands had bled!
Caressing the walls with feather tenderness, the stone still impregnated by their screams…
The black lace of his robe flirting with the mournful soil, where blood had fed his flesh.
His sunny eyes fill with new dawns, sweeps the shower’s rooms with sunrise tears, the smell of fear still haunting…
Children’s of the holocaust, phoenix of a new millennium…
Reborn from the fire of hate, listening to the call of their loves one, the ziganes are coming…
COPYRIGHT@2006.H.NAUDET.
Another good write. Very well
Another good write. Very well done.
AGNUS DEI PART 2
http://www.postpoems.com/authors/margot/poem/625604
Visual poet/ Libertine lost in a labyrinth of complexities, methaphors, searching for the essence/ Ink of life/ death to spell my syphilistic words on the page/ screen.
FIRST AND SECOND WAR IN FRANCE
i was bless ( no sure if bless is the right words) to have growth up with my grand grand father and his wife, he was 18 when it went to do the first war, lost his brother and then , did the second war too, survive the tale, and as a kid he would keep telling me all this stories about it, but i was to stupid/young/naive to understand!
looking back, i did listen, cos i remnber the horror of what he had to go through, i can not think of anything more horrific ( except maybe loose 1 of your own child) then to be so young, i means the first war at 18, was, butchery, slaughter, blooded it and 1 would think, we would learned, but history keep repeating history.
i realised the trauma, he must have been for him so young, and loose his brother then, when i last saw him in hospital,
he had dementia, but, his last words, was, put some money in the box to help the soldiers....
i agree with oscard Wilde YOUTH IS WASTED ON THE YOUNGS
THE BEAUTIFUL THING IS, HE DIED WHEN I WAS 15 YEAR OLD 1 MONTH B4 MY GRAND GRAND MOTHER PASSED AWAY TOO.
Visual poet/ Libertine lost in a labyrinth of complexities, methaphors, searching for the essence/ Ink of life/ death to spell my syphilistic words on the page/ screen.