Dearest reader,

I knew that you are always remembering my previous post, The Dream and Reality of A Prince, the chains of eternal poetry (I’ve never thought that it has the ending title, it will be passed down from generation to generation, our generation).

Nowadays, I read a great book from Michael Macrone, Ph.D titled “Brush Up Your Poetry!”. That book is bijzonder, I read it intentionally and it is very hard to stop reading it. While reading the book, my interest was dragged to Chaucer’s unfinished tale, the Canterbury Tales; the meaning of each line is remarkable and I felt that I live on the days he lived. I wish someday I can reach that kind level of writing, the level of World’s Master Piece.

I reminded me about the picture that I have ever received vier jaren geleden; the picture about myself standing on the globe, grabbing the flag of my nation (Indonesia), with smiley face and powerful posture. At that time, ik versta dat ik Indonesie zal vertegenwoordig. I don’t know when or how, let the fate showed it to me the way. Maar nu, I would like to add that picture by my own; I remembered that I hold the flag with my left-hand (my fave one) and now I am adding a book unto my right hand. Believing and wishing that I could write a book that brings honor for Indonesia later. I knew I have the talent, I just need a person who supports and troost me wel, the person that injects inspiration and breathes revelation.

Okay, let’s go back to the business, it’s time for you to read the continuation of our poetry. Lees het maar!

The wind there was, a  letter there was
whispering sorrow, bringing hollow

The prince was walking in the shadow of death,
The shadow-end of his existences.
The shadow-sight of forfeiting the princess,
are as powerful as the sun drawing out from the earth.

The time collapsed, the Caesium idled,
the psyche cried, the anger kindled.

Clamoring the exospheres for its bounce-back,
lamenting the moments back.

The Prince summoned Chronosphere,

Have ye hert? O ye art dronken!
Kan’t ye kepen the moment on the accord?

demanding his responsibility of taking care the time.

The Prince paged Morpheus,

Art I the Traitour?
For to deceyve me with dreem? O ye art leogere.

asking the meaning of his nightly shares.

The Prince thundered the mirror,
deploring his silence when it had to uproar.

The Prince took the holy scroll of Papyri,
Send his hearts to the author

O thou art, thy never faille,
th’onour of God shal sprede,
Leet Ye herde my wordes,I pray heartely,
I wil for to se and for to be seye of Thou.
I kan’t leet hire from my herte goon.
My love to hire, of Thou auctoritee.
May this brief, this hert preveth weel, the vertu of Love.
I beleven and trusteth my bele prinses to Ye,
thou art never faille,
O holly auctour.

With his heroic countenance,
With his Excalibur swords,
With his true words,
The Prince makes the entrance.

Marching to the dwell of the princess,
Declaring his well of revenges.

The fragrance of Triumph, Chattering in sphere,
The renaissance come, running without fear…

“Dieses Mal werde ich dich nicht verlieren, Prinzessin.”, cries he.

— To Be Continued —
Oh love, after 5 hours in the making, it’s finished. As you might notice, I put a consideration of Rhymes in the poetry (not all parts, I guessed), and learning Mid/Old English for a bit. In the upcoming posts, I will try to make it better with a magnificent story, I hope. Waiting your response, O Ye, my dearest reader.

Het Meest Romantische Dichter van Je,

 

Yosua Kristianto

P.S. Life will go better and serious this time, for I am coming to regain all stolen things, double portions.

The Prince Took His Excalibur

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