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You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.

Arthur Rimbaud

It was the voice of mad seas, roaring immense, That shattered your infant breast, too soft, too human.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Body Break Human Mad Soft Voice
The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Himself Pain Poet
I shed more tears than God could ever have required.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

God Myself Ocean Tears
As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Guide Leadership Myself Ocean River
One evening I sat Beauty on my knees – And I found her bitter – And I reviled her.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Beautiful Bitter Evening Myself Taste
In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Appearance Children Fashion Greatness
I saw that all beings are fated to happiness: action is not life, but a way of wasting some force, an enervation. Morality is the weakness of the brain.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Action Brain Fate Force Happiness Life Moral Waste Way Weakness
I found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Erase Hope Human Myself Soul
Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Divine Key Knowledge Love
I could never throw Love out of the window.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Love Myself Window
Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Creativity Memories Nourish Yourself
But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Bitter Cry Heart Broken Moon Myself Sun True
O seasons, O castles, What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me, Felicity, it enchants us all.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Enchantment Flaw Myself Season Soul
Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? – Through whose blood am I to wade ?
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Blood Break Heart Lying Myself
The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Hard Time Philosophy Suffering Wisdom
The poet makes himself a voyant through a long, immense reasoned deranging of all his senses. All the forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he tries to find himself, he exhausts in himself all the poisons, to keep only their quintessences.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Himself Journey Poet Poison Travel

You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.

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You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.

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