"Le Sommeil," Lecadre Alphonse Eugène (1842-1875)‘Lost’ and Other Poetry by Mandy Moe Pwint Tu The Society July 11, 2016 Beauty, Culture, Poetry 2 Comments Lost The angel’s cry, the devil’s kiss: How did you let it come to this? You claimed the darkness too: How when the world was screaming, You thought you’d best be dreaming; You thought the lies were true— O, you have made a mess of things; The world breaks stars and circus strings, The wheels, they whirl and burn; The lightning shapes the earthly plain And all who sleep are washed by rain, And never do return. Don’t weep, my sweet, sad, human child, The land is rough; the sea is wild And sorrows teeming thrive In restless hearts and whirring heads, And demons sing beneath our beds And hinder where we strive. Yet stars still shine amid the cold, The autumn’s leaves are just as gold As sunlight o’er the streams; So though the world may scorn you now Yet though you lose your way somehow You’ll sail back with your dreams. Of Atlas and I He said: come sit with me, young mortal, your eyes are cold and pale your smile is faint and empty your skin has grown so stalecome sit with me, young mortal and tell me of your life: you have loved and lost, O surely, you have known some strife? I said: Atlas, bearer of the skies, pray tell me how you stand how you live out your punishment imprisoned on the land? Atlas, bearer of the skies, how do the heavens weigh? Do you wish for some release some broken, happy day? He said: young mortal, fair and true, my arms have grown so weary; my eyes have seen the sun sweep over constantly; young mortal, fair and true, you do not know my sorrow to bear such burdens day to day with no relief tomorrow. I said: keeper of the skies, dear Atlas, you have made much sacrifice and had I strength as much as you, I would not question twice. Keeper of the skies, dear Atlas, to bear this burden in your name, for the sky may love the earth so fair and dare not stoop to shame. He said: young mortal, bright and true, you do not understand my doing binds me here forever forever to the lonely land: young mortal, bright and true, the heavens weigh not so much: it is the weight of human hearts that tremble ‘neath my touch. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 2 Responses David Paul Behrens July 12, 2016 Very nice. Virtually outstanding. Reply Durlabh Singh July 12, 2016 BALLAD Go saddle me the black black steed For I am going on a long long journey Go wipe away the tears that roll Across brawny cheeks of gypsie lassie. Fifteen well made men going on their steeds To get their brides leap over the strand The brunt hills in search of a namer Drying fast to justify conscript of land. Twilled with a broach and a ring wintry The death stalks the hill with sickled moon The leaden sheen on the steed’s back Has turned the night’s face into a roon. Late late yesterday I saw the moon Full bodied like a new sickled maned The death will stalk these streets tonight And am afraid of downy owl’s nickled bane. Come on fair ladies hang your hair down Over the fair head over the abordour The fifteen men have gone to castle waste And along came the death to devour. Go saddle me the black black steed The merry castle keep has hovelled a cry Though death stalks every haste and waste And brawny cheeks of gypsie have gone dry. Durlabh Singh. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.