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Cristian Carcu Poems
There's A Story
There's a story among my humble people. There's a dream in the walls of my shiny cradle. That one day I will cry and shout without the 'me' And I will fly, caught, in the claws of a raven's memory.
The Sharpest Claw
There's a life beyond the reason of my being There's a night beyond this feeling That in the morning day, it brings a purple story Full of empty, endless, human glory
Love Is Fragile
Love is as fragile as the heart of an angel. Hate is as fragile as the heart of a child. Who will ever tell me the difference Between these two parts of my purple senses?
When the glittering sparks Of all my past(ed) lives Are winding through the blessing fields Between my inner eyes
Le Grand Blanc
Si je plonje dans la mer de mon âme, Je vois les pappilons qui portent les couleurs de tes yeux. Si j'ouvre les ailles de mes douleurs vres les cieux d'antant Je sent le vent qui coulait dans notre sang.
The Blue Underneath
The day you've died…. The gods made love upon my open heart.
Forever and More
'When the light of love has faded inside the darkness of your mind that died Under the wind of white whisperers full of dirt and lies You will come one day alone and crippled towards the skies. It is then the moment of your life when the great and white Lady
That Beautiful Flame
When I was in love, My blood was my restless brother. When I was in love, My eyes - a galaxy like no other.
The broken morning
This morning I felt a broken silence stepped into my dream This morning I felt my twisted soul longing for another broken scream A broken day arrived without the usual broken light
There's a night shift under my pillow, And the foggy broken clock is ticking. Green and twisted arrows Are the remains of my thoughts.
Comments about Cristian Carcu
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
There's A Story
There's a story among my humble people.
There's a dream in the walls of my shiny cradle.
That one day I will cry and shout without the 'me'
And I will fly, caught, in the claws of a raven's memory.
There's a whisper winding through my humble people
That in a split and half and in between eternities
I will crawl like my wasted death, and so it is,
I will walk daring the forgotten path of all the fallen Gods
And there's a truth killing all my humble people without the common odds.
That I will find myself naked like a dying star
While thinking, ...