These are free verse. See anything you like, have any suggestions? You are more than welcome to leave comments!
French line of first poem: Love is alive, love is not dead.
French line of second poem: Hidden, forgotten, oh! such cruelty.
I apologize if my wording is poor, I am only in French 3!
Love Never Dies
Hardly a sound echoed out of quiet
While he stood still, gazing at her
Try she may, she could not deny it:
The sheer emotion, the magnificent splendor
Her voice in its haunting purity
His in its powerful wonder
The two together, their strange beauty
Was never to be torn asunder.
Carved from the same stone,
Sculpted by different masters.
They held trials all their own,
In each other, they braved disasters
But deception soon led to a lie
And that lie to an aching hurt
Very much like when clouds cry
Dissolving up some of earth's dirt
The pain they knew was swift and sweet
Yet buried itself, and hid away
So with the sound of soft treading feet
Hope arose too strong to sway
But with a gentle turn of head
The truth was oh too clear to tell:
Dreams once sought, now all dead
Kindled the fiery pits of hell
Unknown to them, their time so short
L'amour est vivant, il n'est pas mort
Trapped
My foot, all of a sudden, is caught,
Upon the stony steps I upwards flee
Right now? Why yes, let it be for naught!
Surely he still sees the good in me.
My gentleness comes across first,
Then fine graces, manners, and voice
But what if anger was my only thirst?
Would he have made a different choice?
Wish as though I may, try as though I might
I cannot relieve this guilt, this dagger, this knife
Which cuts into my conscience, slashes all light
Is this to be the remainder of my shameful life?
It shall not, it will not be! I refuse, I deny, I oppose
All thoughts such as this. Thoughts that, as they go,
Change you for good or bad—yes, only one of those
Regrettable I did not listen, did not see, did not know.
I ran and ran from that horrid, ugly place
And escaped with someone else and great
Think me cruel, I did not mean that man's face
That terrible sight, strikes sympathy, dismisses fate
For how could it exist if a person such as he does, too?
Two people could not be more different, estranged
Yet he had the courage to love me, to tell me "I do,"
But what is one without the other, as it goes unchanged.
How trapped am I, with no ropes to bind me
Caché, oublié, oh! une telle cruauté
I lit all the candles in the chamber, only to cling to the dark edges where light and dark merged. This is the game I had played. This was the game I had lost.
Christine had been my light, my candle in the dark. I was the darkness. There is a barrier between the two—a soft line that flickers, changes, and shifts. If this is not overcome, if some degree of acceptance does not occur, those flickers are too bright, too dark, those changes are too subtle, too much, and those shifts too little, too much.
This was the reason my angel left me. We could not manage our boundaries, our edges.
My organ sounded dismally from the dark corner, as I lightly caressed the ivories, growing angrier and more passionate as I endeavored to recount my angel. Piano, she is innocent, flowering, a crescendo, for we are encountering each other, forte, she denies me once, undulating symphonies as our story unfolds—and at last, fortissimo as she denies me the last time. I pound upon the keys, forcing them to feel my agony.
At last, a fading pianissimo. A faded, dying hope? A soft, lingering desire?
As I rest my heated forehead—warm from my playing with great fervor—against the cool white keys, I sighed, an echoing, melancholy sort of sound. Oh Christine… why did you have to go?
Three weeks later…
Drawing back light blue curtains, I saw nothing but a grey sky, and fat tear drops falling from the clouds onto the glass window. I sighed, releasing the curtain. How strange is it that the outside world seemed to be reflecting my mood? My brows furrowed in thought.
Why am I so downhearted and unamused? I am to be wed to my darling Raoul in one week's time. Only one week… I shook my head, shedding the thought. Would it make sense, would it be acceptable, if I wasn't entirely sure what I wanted anymore? Or, rather, who I wanted?
I inhaled deeply, and there, there he was again, in my mind! Him. He kept appearing everywhere—in the shadows of hallways, late at night, in a crowded street as I wander aimlessly, and even more so in my dreams, where I live the fantasy I have come to ache for and crave.
Recently, Raoul has grown impatient with me. He is exhausted of my constant pensive behavior. It does not appear that he knows of my indecisiveness, however, which is to his benefit. Many a night, he comes to my room after supper to bid me goodnight. Before he leaves, though, he doesn't hesitate to unceremoniously search around my room, voicing his concerns about my consistent attitude since that final moment in the Phantom's lair. As if he would find him here, in this room. No, I daresay my angel never wants to see me again after what I did to him.
As for Raoul's nightly lectures: Does he not know I am in mourning? I mourn for my angel! Yet how could he understand? He only knows the Christine who was afraid of this monster, the Christine who was too timid and oblivious to acknowledge her true feelings. Oh, in these past three weeks, I have discovered what human misery truly is!
I sat down upon a chair that had a view out the window. As I sat, I pondered—daydreamed, for it was not nighttime, and dreams do not live in their normal state during the day—and oh, I wondered what my life could have been! Indeed… what were the possibilities, had I turned a heel and ran?
Biting my lip to hold tears and keep my composure, I knew, upon an instant, that I must do something. I needed to act, or condemn myself to a lifetime of ignorance upon the subject of my angel.