10-06-2006, 14:07
Entre les deux gouffres, mon esprit balance, tel le fou suspendu au dessus de la vache bigarrée!<p>"Threads of a masquerade.<p><br>Thoughts entangled in Middle earth<br>caught in the snare of a weaver haughty.<br>Thoughts decaying of fortune or nefarious glory <br>Twanging and groaning from the webs of their uncertain birth.<p>Gods whimsical on their aureate thrones,<br>In their bliss Oblivious of fates they twined.<br>Masks of mirth tweedle gambles and slanders predestined, <br>Oh so oblivious of the threads flowing through their bones!<p>Wars unfailing, nightmares of the weaver,<br>Scarlet ravages of a delirium he denies.<br>Lo! Orcs and elves embraced in a mutual slaughter,<br>Fighting the same shadow casted on their spirit.<br>By this mascara we watch and wear who can tell<br>to which mirror belonged those senseless shards of lies ?<br>Suspicious, heinous, voracious, circles the yell<br>shrieked by wretched clusters, wreathed angers,<br>uttered by the weaver in his sleep all alone,<br>in his grief of solitude we all inherit.<br>Sorrows of the stars, his sparkling grimaces forlorn.<p>In their schemes snuggled, masters almighty devise<br>of their soldiers' jolly tangos, a rhapsody<br>played in three noxious steps, on ruby encrusted chess.<br>Destroying realms, those kings of apathy<br>fail to cover with blood ropes backing their bodies.<br>Embossed by their radiant smiles, queens array death<br>over their luscious chests, mauled by broken promises.<br>Hiding their daggers behind white gowns of bounties,<br>They long for a bleak prince, caught in his cosy hell.<br>'Las, princes and ropes are interlaced forever.<br>By this masquerade we dance and play who can tell<br>which pawn will lastly stand on the ground of power?<p><p>In middle earth, deceits whirling<br>warble on the scaffold like disheartened raptors<br>Grim slayers in ballerinas disguised<br>Lurking from their lassitude, in murk irised, <br>devour their prey's repute with ear baubles hanging<br>like ludicrous grapes, lustrous rosaries of terror.<br>Humble scribes covered with coats and thistles,<br>wander dissenting the arenas of demise.<br>Spectral night-birds pace their halls nervously,<br>seeking for torpor, praying for slumber,<br>they hibernate eagerly and yet again they rise<br>for one last moment on Arda, unceasing and brittle.<br>Over the somber scenes of Middle earth,<br>A promise given is a withering aster, <br>Friends are venturous fables or reliable foes,<br>Graceful simpers disclose razor-sharp teeth.<br>Over the burlesque scene, the jaded comedy,<br>Knights are crooked and thugs swear vows,<br>Bears sail seas and corsairs quarry peace,<br>Warriors assault maiden rather than battlegrounds.<br>Dire dragons, black barbed ablaze and abhorrent<br>hide behind their sooty scales, a tender heart<br>shivering under its foolish ill-fated torment.<p>Behind the velvet curtain of middle earth,<br>The communion of loneliness and sacred dirt,<br>The haughty weaver conducts his orchestra cosmogonal <br>with imperial gestures and euphonious bounds. <br>By this masquerade we fiddle and flee who can tell<br>what shall befall to the puppets when tolls the knell<br>when lastly free they fall<br>their tinkling threads<br>severed ?"<p>