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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Olvidado Forget-me-nots:dots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Ceyx
    Elite Ratio:    5.69 - 111/107/81
    Words: 475
    Class/Type: Poetry/Longing
    Total Views: 859
    Average Vote:    5.0000
    Bytes: 4351



    Description:
       I threw in the translation at the bottom just to prevent any questions about what it means or incorrect translations that may be made...


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsOlvidado Forget-me-nots:dots
    -------------------------------------------



    Olvidado Forget-me-nots:




    This sunset is a tragedy.

    Esta sunset es una tragedia.

    These rays, like shrapnel, piercing eyes and minds.
    Estos rayos, como metralla, piercing ojos y mentes.

    I feel myself slipping.
    Siento como si estoy cayendo.
    Quizás I have fallen already.
    El infierno está estando out de dioses sight...

    This es how ello ends.
    Esto is cómo it finales.
    In a memory.
    En un sueño.

    We walk through the fields and she snatches at the butterflies.
    We walk through the butterflies and she snatches at the fields.
    We snatch through the fields and she walks at the butterflies.

    Caminamos a través de los campos y ella
    snatches at las mariposas.



    Memoria.

    Decomposition.

    Corrosion in the corners of your eyes when you wake.
    Tu vida wiped away with a warm, wet cloth.
    Todo.
    Not even a trembling hand to mourn it.
    El sol quemaduras at it rises.
    And when it sets it will be a travesty.

    Esta sunset es un travesty...



    _________________
    (Translation)



    Forgotten Forget-me-nots

    This sunset is a tragedy.
    This sunset is a tragedy.

    These rays, like shrapnel, piercing eyes and minds.
    These rays, like shrapnel, piercing eyes and minds.

    I feel myself slipping.
    I feel as if I am falling.
    Perhaps I have fallen already.
    Hell is being out of Gods sight…

    This is how it ends.
    This is how it ends.
    In a memory.
    In a dream.

    We walk through the fields and she snatches at the butterflies.
    We walk through the butterflies and she snatches at the fields.
    We snatch through the fields and she walks at the butterflies.

    We walk through the fields and she snatches at the butterflies.



    Memory.

    Decomposition.

    Corrosion in the corners of your eyes when you wake.
    Your life wiped away with a warm, wet cloth.
    Everything.
    Not even a trembling hand mourn it.
    The sun burns as it rises.
    And when it sets it will be a travesty.

    This sunset is a travesty...









    Submitted on 2008-08-20 11:46:27     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    Rate This Submission

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    ||| Comments |||
      it's time between time. moments and words left unspoken until you give them voice. it breaks my heart so it can heal again... "she snatches at butterflies" "she snatches at fields"


    captivating
    | Posted on 2008-08-25 00:00:00 | by in shadow | [ Reply to This ]
      When I read this, I had the voice of el fauno every time there was a spanish part, which made the piece seem more mysterious in a way.
    I think spanish is a beautiful language, especially when writing.

    Quizás I have already fell.

    I think that it should be Quizas I have already fallen.
    To use the word fell, I think you would have to put, Quizas, I already fell.

    Hell is being out of God's sight

    that is a perfect line.

    This whole thing was absolutely beautiful. I haven't seen the word "travesty" in such a long time. Brilliant write.
    | Posted on 2008-08-20 00:00:00 | by was_i_ever_real | [ Reply to This ]
      
    Actually, I really like the english/spanish mix in the first part, the two language combining like a story and an echo of thought...great title by the way... forget-me-nots are pretty flowers, I used to have them in my garden...

    'We walk through the fields and she snatches at the butterflies.
    We walk through the butterflies and she snatches at the fields.
    We snatch though the fields and she walks at the butterflies.'

    The play on words here is rather lovely...

    I like the repetitions...
    The different meanings one might take in the repeating of the words...

    This is melancholly...

    endings are a travesty... but somewhere one has to see the colors of a beginning.

    I do like this alot...



    | Posted on 2008-08-20 00:00:00 | by isabella | [ Reply to This ]


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