Tristan Robert Lange

Dans la mort de la nuit

A vine wraps around

The poisoned fruit

And intoxicates the

One drinking its elixir.

 

Visions of the dead

Dance like ballerinas

On hollowed ground;

La mascarade de la mort.

 

The comedy is finished,

The tragedy an art

That betrays the artist's

Faux pas extraordinaire.

 

As time ticks onward,

The clock forms a smile

As the hour tolls in loudly

Dans la mort de la nuit.

Comments1

  • Shadowbox15

    Why are you using plural? Also “mort” is masculine.

    • Tristan Robert Lange

      Um...because French is not my primary language, but that’s no reason to shy away. 😉 This poem was calling for it. Thanks for the constructive feedback.

      • Shadowbox15

        You’re welcome.



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