The Fountain of Blood by Baudelaire

 

I have long admired the oratory skill of Professor John Mearsheimer, the Political Scientist and Professor at the Univeristy of Chicago, so much so that I finally bought one of his books, pictured, and which I find perfectly compliement the poetry of the 19th century French poet Charles Baudelaire who, like Mearsheimer, brought a certain element of realism into his own discipline of poetry. Of course, most so called poets in the west today will have no actual conception of what I am talking about, as they are idiots for the most part merely sucking on the pump of ideology. I suspect tastes will change, finally. What with  recent events; fashionable trends move like blood with the times. Speaking of blood...!

                                                                             

The Fountain of Blood

After Baudelaire

 

It seems at times that my blood flows

Like a fountain following blood rhythms.

I hear it distinctly flowing with a distant murmur,

But I struggle in vain to find any wound.

 

Throughout the city, as in a closed field,

It goes along, transforming the pavements into islands,

Refreshing the thirsts of every creature

And everywhere colouring all of bloody nature.

 

I have often expected from captivating wines

To put to sleep the terror which I mine;

Wine makes the eye see clearly and the ear hear sharper!

 

I search in love the sleep of oblivion,

But love for me is only a bed of nails

To offer to all of the accursedly cold women.