A Ballad for Death

A compilation of the first 500 poems I ever wrote.
I write in my free time accross different styles and themes, sometimes there are reasons to what I write and sometimes there are not, but I always try to follow my inspiration.


318. Antoine

Far from home I had flown,

Strangely I was not hurt,

I was in the desert

And thought to be alone

Bur there stood before me

In a young child’s body

The tallest, wisest man

That I have ever known.

He had travelled the span

Of universe unknown

To find the one answer,

The one from the old song,

– He wanted to know her,

For them to get along –

Of which song do you speak?

I asked to the blond boy,

The one that makes you weak,

The one that makes you coy…

He replied with a frown,

Perhaps recalling Brown,

The fox he had made friend,

The one who had shown him

That you can all surrend

On a pure, true heart’s whim.

I hope he kept the sheep

And that when he shall wake

He will with his rose weep;

Now he sleeps, said the snake,

And back home he has flown.

How he did not look hurt…

I was in the desert

Afraid to be alone

Now that lied before me

A young blond child’s body.


I cannot to this day

With pure certainty say

Who out of this pair wild

Was the adult, the child.

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