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Tema: English Poems

  1. #31
    Forero Experto
    Fecha de ingreso
    03 mar, 10

    Thumbs up Respuesta: English Poems

    This Mask I Wear

    This mask I wear, you gave to me
    One winter night beneath the trees,
    Its black and blue enshrouds my life,
    Surrounds my eyes and blinds my sight.

    This mask I wear pretends I'm here,
    and hides me from the awful fear
    That you might find the heart of me
    and take that too, beneath the trees.

    This mask I wear to hide the pain.
    It's all I have to keep me sane.
    I just fell down, I'm told to tell.
    There are no words to stop this hell.

    This mask I pray to God for why
    He hates me so to watch me die
    A little more with every night
    This man comes in and rapes my life.

    But little girls grow up, my friend
    And learn the wicked ways of men.
    And this mask I wear comes off the day
    This mask I wear lays on your grave.

    "Extrangers in Paradise" Terry Moore
    Última edición por rebelderenegado; 06/07/2010 a las 00:24

  2. #32
    Forero Experto
    Fecha de ingreso
    03 mar, 10

    Thumbs up Respuesta: English Poems

    Chapter One

    January 2030

    Rocket Summer

    One minute it was Ohio winter, with doors closed, windows locked, the panes blind with frost, icicles fringing every roof, children skiing on slopes, housewives lumbering like great black bears in their furs along the icy streets.
    And then a long wave of warmth crossed the small town. A flooding sea of hot air; it seemed as if someone had left a bakery door open. The heat pulsed among the cottages and bushes and children. The icicles dropped, shattering, to melt. The doors flew open. The windows flew up. The children worked off their wool clothes. The housewives shed their bear disguises. The snow dissolved and showed last summer's ancient green lawns.
    Rocket summer. The words passed among the people in the open, airing houses. Rocket summer. The warm desert air changing the frost patterns on the windows, erasing the art work. The skis and sleds suddenly useless. The snow, falling from the cold sky upon the town, turned to a hot rain before it touched the ground.
    Rocket summer. People leaned from their dripping porches and watched the reddening sky.
    The rocket lay on the launching field, blowing out pink clouds of fire and oven heat. The rocket stood in the cold winter morning, making summer with every breath of its mighty exhausts. The rocket made climates, and summer lay for a brief moment upon the land....

    From Ray Bradbury`s "Martian Chronicles" , 1950.

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