Category Archives: Poésie

Une collection de poèmes écrits par Adrien

Poésie

The Wall

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The Wall

I am going to school.
There is a wall on the path I take.
I wonder what is beyond the wall.
I want to look but i can’t, I am small.

I am small.
I am going to school.
There is a big wall on the path I take.
I wonder what is beyond the wall.
I can’t see what’s beyond it. Probably nothing, I think, since i can’t see anything.

I am small.
I am going to school.
There is a boring wall on the path I take.
There is nothing beyond the boring wall.

Now I am big.
I don’t go to school anymore.
I walk down an old familiar path.

I am big.
I don’t go to school anymore.
I walk down the old familiar path.
There is a big wall on the path I take.
I recognize it: The Boring Wall.

I am big.
I don’t go to school anymore.
I walk down the same path.
I remember the boring wall from when I was small.
Now I am big. I am even bigger than the wall.
And hey… that crack wasn’t there before.
Well… now it’s a small boring wall with cracks and nothing beyond it.

I am bigger than the wall.
I don’t go to school anymore.
Here comes the small boring wall with cracks and nothing beyond it.
There is grass before me.
The grass must be greener on the other side of the small boring wall with cracks.

I am bigger than the small boring wall with cracks.
I don’t go to school anymore.
Here comes the small boring wall with cracks.
The grass must be greener on the other side.
Why not check? I am bigger than the wall after all.
I do. The grass is the same color.
I must be stupid to have thought the grass would be greener.

I am bigger than the small wall with cracks.
I don’t go to school anymore.
I am stupid because I thought the grass would have been greener on the other side and it isn’t.
I look beyond wall again. Maybe it’ll make me less stupid?
I see a tall tree.
I notice I am not that big after all.

I don’t go to school anymore.
I am not so stupid anymore because I know I am not that big.
The color of the grass doesn’t matter.
I look beyond the wall again. Maybe it’ll make me smart?
I see a vast green field I never knew existed.
I see beautiful flowers, all kinds of animals and a house.
I can’t believe I thought there was nothing behind the wall.
I have learned a lot from this wall. What a source of wisdom.
It is my wise wall.

I don’t go to school anymore.
I am on the same path.
Here comes my wise wall.
I am smart now because I know what is beyond that wall.
I also know that the color of the grass doesn’t matter.
I see another wall.
That is not my wise wall it won’t teach me anything.

I don’t go to school anymore.
I am smart.
I am on the same path.
Here comes my wise wall.
I like it.
I have learned a lot from my wall.
I wonder what is beyond that other wall.
I can’t see beyond it.
I want to.
I go find something to stand on.
I look beyond it.
I see new things I didn’t know.
I realise I am not smart for I ignored this wall believing it had nothing to teach me.

I don’t go to school anymore.
I’m not very smart.
I’m on the same path.
Here come my two walls.
I look around and see there are walls everywhere.
I realize they can’t be my walls. They’re just walls.
I realize I make too many conclusions that limit me.
I stop doing that.
My eyes are open.
Who is doing the conclusions anyway?
Who am I for that matter?
Good questions, I don’t know.

I don’t know.
I am on a path.
I wonder what is beyond the walls I see.
I seek ways to look.

English, Poésie

An I For An Eye

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This poem was inspired by a post on The Essence of Peopling,  by Shots of Awe, and many other inputs my mind was given. It all started with a word play on I and eye.

AN I FOR AN EYE

We’re always dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s,
Never checking the eyes, figuring out if they see.

I do not see my I the way it is. Rather,
I see I the way I think your eye sees my I.

I look into your eye and hope to see a piece,
A piece of my I reflected back from your eye.
My eye, too, sees a part of your I through your eye,
Only e’er a piece of the mysterious whole.

Looking for I in your eyes,
I can get lost in the abyss of supple spheres.

Then, through the eye I cry. For my eyes can’t see I.

Through my eyes I see all but I
And that is what I long to see.
I’ve been stranded so long at sea.
Yet, it is so close.
Feeling lost, yet so close.
So close, I can sense it,
So close I can feel it.
But, so close, I can’t see it.

Yet I know I is just behind my eye.
And yet I cannot see I.

Maybe I is not to be seen, but felt.
Not like the fabric, like the emotion.
Instinct.

What my I sees through my eye is true. Is it not?
Seeing is truth. There ain’t more real than what you see.
A stubbornly persistent illusion at best.

All this based on the assumption that what eye see,
Is real. Eye cannot see I.
Eye cannot even see eye, but with a mirror.
Even that is not I.
Eye cannot see I.
But I is true.
Truer, I could argue, than what eye can see.
Eye is not reliable.
I transcends eye.
I must be felt. Not seen.
What a difficult thing to see, for an I who relies so much on eyes.
Those other I’s have the same problem.
Though some see clearer than others.
Who is to say that what you see with closed eyes might not be light.