The Black Silence
There was a fixer who hid his own face
Behind a black mask to protect himself
From others and self, a way to erase
His pain and doubts, like books on a bookshelf.
Hair white as snow and gloves ebony black,
There came a child, among the strongest ones.
A ying to his yang, who could bring him back.
A life of misery, from which he runs.
Through thick and thin, their bond made unbreaking.
Fists thrown for compassion, now tight embrace,
A couple so fierce, power unyielding,
Painting their color on all their foes' face.
Yet, fear brings desperation to their love.
As he goes to war to make them safe,
They hopes are shattered, contracts disposed of.
Their child is soon to come, they musn't strafe.
As fate would have it, tragedy strikes twice.
A walk in haven, turned into bloodbath,
As a pianist, with notes like blades, struck thrice,
There fell the child, trying to find her path.
Brought by the dark music, the husband came,
Brought the sorrowful choir to a rest.
By slaying the titan in his own name,
He reckognized the place, distressed.
A heartbeat through the desolation rings,
Each pulse, a wailing cry for mercy.
Within mounds of rubble torn off the wings,
There lied his angel, imapled and bloody.
With silence sharper than his dear's famed knife,
As tears turned into rageful aftermath,
Before his light faded, abandonning life,
This damned city would see his endless wrath.
Losing all in his sorrow, cold killer,
Searching for a culprit, when they are none
But this city they live in, its pillar,
With its stars but monsters under the sun.
When all was lost, and his rage had run cold,
A hag in purple brought him exposure.
Another angel from a wing of old,
Might, to this new librarian, bring closure...
-Nicolas Besson
Ce poème fait partie de ma série de poèmes hebdomadaire que vous pouvez trouver ici (venez laisser un commentaire!)
