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Writer's pictureTim Xiaotian Fan

Le Noir et Le Rouge

-08.24.2023-


Le noir et le rouge are not like

Black and white

That stand in opposite,

Defined in a clear line.

Those cannot be blended,

Resenting one from another.

Even if eventually, evenly spent

And looks nothing bent altogether.


These are in the case of nuance:

Who are the least is to be the same

Yet push and pull in means of reign.

It could be a tug-off war on their names,

With different stances,

Clinging to their trends.

It could be an operation of co

Like fire - crackles inside of coal.


The idea of set in terms of math

Is also handy to break the can.

A glance at grime may disguise

The beating mind dressed in red;

To pose the two on one edge,

Should they fought against

Or facets of one end.

No conflicts worth a grant,

’Cause confrontations align

Amid multi-dimensions

Where to be mentioned as an endless jam.


This framework is so much favored,

Working as a breaker to rationalize hater.

Like sunset, burning radiance;

And floating flames

Bemingled with scattered sprink’s.

Seeming a picture of perfect in pairing,

While a distance of Milky Way lies in between.

Deceptive though,

Physical detachment weakens

No stun; dimness of cloudy loads is ever fold’d.


So, it doesn’t matter if le noir et le rouge

Are together or not wooed.

Sometimes their nature says nil

When perceived overwhelms.

So, it is a choice to find,

A determination to refine.

Await, how assured I can say

When senses of insight drives away.


Albeit, le noir et le rouge have own moods.

Endorsed rights to act in two.

Behold this property of popularity,

Gained from impersonatin’ pure pleasure

In forms of characters belongs to playwrights

Who stage themselves and cast a sage

– This is the story of le rouge

Readily red to read out loud,

To rant about, and gank the band.

Sad le noir can’t abide aside:

Unfettered expressions are always confined.

The recklessness of a rude burst

Terrifies the idol of devised urge

By a mere chance

That what blurt’d might lead to trance.


Here, or there already, comes le rouge No. 2

With switching masks,

Tearing, peeling, and striping cover.

It is fosterin’ instinctive task.

Let devilish doting do the utterance

To speak this desire and lustful admire.

Le noir would not stand by:

He chocked any outcrop

In his charm of dark art.

Thus fancied though,

No confession ever starts -

Despite the inklings hidden in gloating

Were roaring at his wHole.


Nevertheless, I boost a truth where le rouge

Is on le noir, in le noir, tingling le noir, est partie

Under the same hood.

The last meet plunged itself into me.

Then, the most soothing wood ask

With a destiny to burn in le rouge

And die in ash noire.

It wonders if any dying moment

Still earns a merit scent - cannot change.

Petrified I am; undeniable delight

Had by-now visited and now begone.


Whatsoever left is flipped enough

To suffice a basic need to act tough.

Elope not, at least to dream,

To proclaim a love after the dunk.

As every show must come to an end,

And every feast must, uncivilly, be excret’d.

Nothing like le noir without a spot:

’Cause all its carriage comprises all spots.

Or le rouge that never freezes:

’Cause all its nature removes all ennui.

Blame me a visionary as you wish -

Conceiving has taken all my yield -

In rapturous hysterics.

Just to depict:

There’s a scenario in which

That trunk could cling to any base of le noir

And bloom some blossom of le rouge.

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