.nous sommes perdus.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem inspired by the film "Possession," a french horror flick by Andrzej Zulawski that provokes psychological consequences from the characters, and challenges audience's perception of marriage, unity, etc. The film follows a couple as they go through a divorce, and the reasons for it being projected through the characters as they gradually unwind to become the worst versions of themselves.

Overall, pretty solid. The poem I have today is a bit morbid, and presents a scenario that arose at one point during the film when... well, I wouldn't want to spoil anything. Either way, the setting of the poem doesn't take place in the film, but instead I offered a different perspective, one that I think focuses more on the psychology of the killer.

Anyways, it's a bit different than normal, but in the effort of branching out and drawing inspiration from unique sources, I present .nous sommes perdus.

P.S. The title translates to "we are lost."

Submitted: June 07, 2019

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Submitted: June 07, 2019

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.nous sommes perdus.

 

An empty hall,

A ticking clock.

SS Jasmine,

Moored at the dock.

 

The phone rings,

No one’s home.

A voice in the box,

Deep and baritone.

 

“Where are you?”

It comes faintly.

“Are you okay?”

Something heard daily.

 

Front of the house,

Signs of a struggle.

Pictures strewn about,

Furniture and rubble.

 

“I’ve tried everyone,”

A whimper of despair.

“It’s all the same,

No one is there.”

 

Bloody is the floor,

Empty is this house.

Dragged off in the night,

The cat has caught the mouse.

 

“Are you safe,

Are you hurt?”

The despair is tears.

“Are you lying in the dirt?”

 

“Answer me, please,

There’ll be no one if you don’t.”

 

The crying stops.

“You look so lovely tonight,

With me on my boat.”

 

The motor starts up,

The receiver falls deaf.

The man with the phone,

Not the player but the ref.

 

The body is fresh,

The water is lapping.

“Soon enough, my sweet,

You will be napping.”

 

The gleam of a knife,

A flash of steel.

A sharp draw,

A faint squeal.

 

Rolling it up and over,

A log onto the fire.

The body hits the water,

The man’s work is admired.

 

“Sink deep, my love,

May you sleep well tonight.

Nous sommes perdus,

Don’t forget the lights.”

 


© Copyright 2019 Dan Zuniga. All rights reserved.

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