Sunday, December 31, 2017

The ringer of the bells

"All Paris was spread out at his feet, with her thousand turrets, her undulating horizon, her river winding under the bridges, her stream of people flowing to and fro in the streets; with the cloud of smoke rising from her many chimneys; with her chain of crested roofs pressing in ever tightening coils round about Notre Dame. " Victor Hugo, Notre Dame de Paris. 

Notre-Dame's old bell calls me
around the end of the day I wait
to see Paris give me a sign

of a new beginning
but the story is the same with all graygoles
that they speak only the truth

there is no problem
to wander without finding a way
just assure you are not lost

I can feel him in my bones as I walk the stairs
where he swung rope to rope
the ringer of the bells

Quasimodo, the laid, bete
the ugly, the stupid,
the one who fell for a woman with a voice like crystal

with a tambourine and a smile
the ringer of the bells who announced the news
talked to the shadows until he even fell shadow of her heart

Quasimodo, my enemy, myself.

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