The verses of Slybard

I remember watching One Tree Hill, season 4 or 3, (the episode in which this guy called Jimmy took some of his fellow students hostage), and thinking, ‘What does it feel like to be a misfit?’ I am also grateful that I’ve never had to suffer that way, I have never let myself do.

To have close a friend, ear-splitting silence;

Drifting away, far as the moon’s distance:

To be engulfed in blissful loneliness;

To die alive, absent in your presence;

Have sad bliss, ache for happiness;

To consume hate, summon fate:

To be a misfit!

If I could:

I’d sing a sweet serenade

And tame wild and restless Wind

To carry it, day and night,

Over wide-pathed land, to you.

If I could:

I’d steal from the boy who lived,

Destiny’s wand and bewitch

Night’s bulbs to spell out our names

For the world to see AND know.

If I could:

I’d bribe, with Iris’ bow,

Fate, to deal us better hands;

And Time, with Cleopatra’s hand,

To prolong serene moments.

If I could,

I’d be there with you.

I guess am required by unwritten rules and urged on by invisible forces, to wear my heart on my sleeves. Fine, I’ll do it!

But two lines ought to suffice.

My heart was empty yesterday;

My heart is full to the brim today.

There something funny and exciting about being a red-blooded 16 year old. I wonder whether it’s the new found freedom or the insatiable curiosity…

Once I cried,

Twice I shied.

Thrice I cried,

The tears of joy.

I have always been fascinated by Haikus and the sheer excitement of communicating great detail with very few words. Talk of a few short words with a mile of meaning.

Hit song; harsh whispers:

Dancing trees with singing leaves.

Written notes of silence.

I’ve people heard talk about sweet 16 but I had a sour 16. So when I turned 17, I was compelled to make up for the lost fun and experience. Thus my sweet 17!

Before any one starts pointing accusing fingers, they might want to know that scarlet is purely fictional! And it’s not in any way about the actress Scarlet Jo-something!

What can I compare you to?

Nothing! May be a scarlet rose

Its petals obscenely delicate;

A butterfly, whose beauty up-close

Defies every lexis’ word;

Or a rainbow, its colours meticulate.

Is there such purity

As that of early morning dew,

But that of an Angel’s serenity?

Who then am I,

Venus her deserved credit to deny?

For I’d sing rhyme after rhyme

And bribe numbers to my count

(standing atop Olympus the mount)

if ever from Jove I knew

that such was your word!

st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) }
<!– /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:”"; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:”Times New Roman”; mso-fareast-font-family:”Times New Roman”;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} –>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:”Table Normal”;
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:”";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:”Times New Roman”;
mso-ansi-language:#0400;
mso-fareast-language:#0400;
mso-bidi-language:#0400;}

And now for the English version; well, the same poem but Anglais.

How often do you hear

Of Roses that thrive in Lille,

Only to find their way

To the mysterious streets of Paris?

How many of those

Would stop Time in it’s tracks

Simply with their beauty and petals’ scent?

On one foot I stand,

A spectacle to all and sundry

To answer in one word: YOU!

st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) }
<!– /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:”"; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:”Times New Roman”; mso-fareast-font-family:”Times New Roman”;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} –>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:”Table Normal”;
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:”";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:”Times New Roman”;
mso-ansi-language:#0400;
mso-fareast-language:#0400;
mso-bidi-language:#0400;}

My French isn’t exactly the best. I know just enough to tell you that I don’t speak the language! But I thought this poem was best written in French. I will post the very same poem in English and see what y’all think about it; sort of compare and contrast.

Combien vous vous souvent entendez

De les roses qui fleur en Lille,

Seulement les memes se trouve

A les rue mysterieux de Paris?

Alors meme combine d’elles

Arreteriez temps au point

Tout simplement avec la beaute et le parfum du petals?

D’ici je reste

Un spectacle a tout le monde

Respondent en un mot: VOUS!