There is no word for
the depth of darkness.
No word for
the light of stars.
No word for
the Spring.
No word for
the miracle of being.
No word for
the boundlessness of Love
and no word for
the power of

the Word.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

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They were not mere raindrops
sliding down my father’s car windows.
They were colliding and merging worlds.
A game of creation and annihilation.

Droplets of Time, tears of the Soul.
My father’s car is long gone
but I still wonder at the power
of a child’s imagination.

And when it starts raining
there are neither where nor why.
The Silence in my heart helps me
to clarify some of Life’s great mysteries.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

I build crystal cathedrals
then I take a special delight
in destroying all of them.

I like when sharp shards
hurt my child heart.
I love when it aches and bleeds.

Yes, I have to concede
I’m a bit of a masochist.
Besides, Someone told me

you are your own worst enemy.
But what wouldn’t I do to grasp
the beauty of suicide poetry?

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: the Death of Ophelia
(Odilon Redon, 1905)

Born on the Second Day
from a starless vault,
they waited patiently
for your first heartbeat.

Though they were huge
and blue
they were not complete
without you.

Night Skies
gave you Life
and filled your eyes
with sparkles of light

so that you can
fill the sky with stars
and give the world
a little more Love.

© Frédéric Georges Martin