A rare breed of perfect traits
Author's Notes
A poem originally written in Norwegian for my mock exam I had, nobody knew I based it off of one of my OCs >:)
I have to apologize however as the English translation doesn't flow as well as the original and might not come off as good as it should be, but the general feel of it should still be there.
A rare breed of perfect traits.
"He should show himself more."
He lights up every room with his glow,
and everyone turns his head after him
in their fake distress.
But that shine
we find only in his hair.
His heart nobody reaches.
His smile; so tender,
His laughter; so nice,
His charm; a defense,
with a face so pretty.
The perfect man, as rare as gold.
But in his heart, a hole, empty and old.
Their eyes shine with astonishment,
but no one spares his admiration.
Their fingers reach for his adornment,
but no one can give him his joy.
They caress his shoulders,
but not his cheek.
He gladly invites you to his home,
but never let you in.
He is the protagonist of his piece,
But he is no hero.
A rare breed of perfect traits,
His inner dialogue;
black as ink.
A rare breed of perfect traits.
He will live a lonely life.
Like a gemstone in glass cage,
with inner silence, but on the outside; a wall.
He will not weave any friendship.
A rare breed of perfect traits;
"I want to hide away."
Original translation:
En sjelden rase av perfekte trekk.
"Han burde ikke gjemme seg vekk."
Han lyser opp alle rom med sin glød.
og alle snur hodet etter han
i deres falske nød.
Men den glans
finner vi bare i hans hår.
Hans hjerte ingen når.
Hans smil: så ømt,
hans latter; så skjønt,
hans sjarm; et forsvar,
med et ansikt så pent.
Den perfekte mann, så sjelden som gull.
Men i hans hjerte, et stort tomt hull.
Deres øyne glimrer av forundring,
men ingen skåner han deres beundring.
Deres fingre når etter hans pryd,
men ingen kan gi ham hans fryd.
De kjærtegner hans skuldrer,
men ingen hans kinn.
Han inviterer deg gjerne til sitt hjem,
men slipper deg aldri inn.
Han er hovedpersonen i sitt stykke,
men en helt er han ikke.
En sjelden rase av perfekte trekk,
Han's indre dialog;
sort som blekk.
En sjelden rase av perfekte trekk.
Et ensomt live vil han leve.
Som en edelsten i glassbur,
med indre stillhet, men på utsiden; en mur.
Ingen vennskap vil han veve.
En sjelden rase av perfekte trekk;
"Jeg skulle ønsket meg vekk."