I ached,
My cool choked blood ached,
The French girl,
Black hair, dreamy eyes,
Slipped a bit of bread in my hand.
'Little brother, don't cry,
Not now .
Wait.
Wait.
Later on,'
said she.
'Anger, hatred,
The day will come,
But not now.'
My fear, calmed.
'You where in Paris?'
'Oui.'
She looked into my mournful eyes, and into my little corner,
Those eyes I had seen,
Yes, it was she
I had seen,
Almost.
Once, in a dream.
A/N: These next two poems are from a project for English. The assignment was to write a poem by rearranging the wording of passages written out of the book, Night.
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Spontaneous Works of an Endless Dreamer (Poetry)
Poetry"ѕσмєтιмєѕ уσυ ωαкє υρ ƒяσм α ∂яєαм. ѕσмєтιмєѕ уσυ ωαкє υρ ιη α ∂яєαм. αη∂ ѕσмєтιмєѕ, єνєяу ση¢є ιη α ωнιℓє, уσυ ωαкє υρ ιη ѕσмєσηє єℓѕє'ѕ ∂яєαм. " ― яι¢нєℓℓє мєα∂, ѕυ¢¢υвυѕ вℓυєѕ
