IconElegies

People don't like monsters, even though ugliness brings them joy, even my mother she abandoned  her disgusting child on the steps of Notre-Dame. The bells of God rang  so that I could no longer hear. I hoped for love in vain, because who would love a monster. And then came Esmeralda, the gypsy girl, whom everyone wanted and love awoke in the Hunchback of Notre-Dame too. The monster also had love and when they killed Esmeralda the hunchback also died of grief. The Hunchback of Notre-Dame is a fictional character created by Victor Hugo.

As my last wish, I asked my friend to destroy my writings, but he didn't follow my wish. I am more famous than ever, the idol of all strange people. And I only wrote about the world as I saw it, strange and frightening. But I wasn't alone. That was a surprise. A poet's note. Franz Kafka is one of the most famous writers.

Death was never far from me nor was pain love remained far from me abandoned me or died away happiness I could not keep why then should I not have dressed in black and sing when I could not do otherwise such was your little sparrow sweet morphine A poet's note. Edith Piaf is still a legendary singer.

I was supposed to become something, something other than the mafia. I died alone, me, Don Michael Corleone. They took my dearest, only daughter from me. I have committed many sins, killed many because I had to, my own brother, my mother's son. I guess it was right that I died alone, not even murdered, in Sicily, for which I killed. Poet's Note. Michael Corleone is a character in The Godfather series.

Grief kills joy, age kills beauty. I lost both. The anarchist's stab only made it public. I only realized I was dying when I died. I died much earlier when my beloved son decided to leave this world. He could not otherwise escape the rigid, formal court, of which my husband was the prototype. I traveled in my mourning dress aimlessly, until my journey came to an end. Empress Elisabeth of Austria-Hungary, better known as Sissi, was murdered by an anarchist.

I knew our fate would soon be at hand, it was just a question of when. We are romantic heroes now, but our lives  were nothing more than an escape. People  just hated the banks and the authorities that we disciplined. But they won't let go. That's what outlaws are. I would have liked to be buried side by side, but our families wouldn't let us. At least we died side by side. Only death separated us. Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow were a legendary outlaw couple.

I was called Dali at the front, but at home I was Maksym, a machine gun poet, whose life ended too early, like so many others in Ukraine. I was a poet, already on the Maidan, but I grabbed a machine gun, when it was needed. Ukraine has lost many of us artists, I became a classic after my death, just as I suspected. My book sold out. Poet's note. Maksym Kryvtsov was a poet who fell in the Ukrainian war.

My name was Bond, James Bond. They tried to kill me for many times, the dark side of the profession, but the last time they succeeded. I was an orphan boy, who saved the world more times than I can remember, but who couldn't save himself. I had many relationships, but I only loved two women, and I couldn't keep either of them. So don't judge me for a little drinking. Poet's Note. James Bond is a fictional character created by Ian Fleming.

I was a princess of sorrows and I died far from home in a hotel room that I had not left for a year. My heart remained in Persia, and found no home elsewhere. Yes, I was loved, but that did not save me from the darkness. It was not an assassin's bullet that killed me but my loss in the misty agony and pain, from which I never found a way out. I was also buried in a foreign land, and I was never allowed to see Persia again. Poet's note. Leila Pahlavi, the daughter of the Shah of Persia, died young of an overdose and was buried in Paris.

What a tragic end. Not in itself. I had fought many duels. It was logical  that the last one on Blackriver would be my fate. There was too much gossip about Natalya's relationship with the Frenchman. The Frenchman hit me hard, in the stomach, but I hit him too. Natalya hit me in the heart, I forgave her for that, but in the two days that I still lived, I managed to say goodbye to everyone. A note from the poet. Alexander Pushkin died after the duel.

I only did what I was told. I had to hide behind it, because there was no other option. Emotions have no part in this. I considered myself an official of Death, An architect of destruction, but I don't want glory for this. Who would? I have no regrets, I only did what I was told. Poet's note. High-ranking Nazi Adolf Eichmann was responsible, among other things, for transports to death camps during World War II.

Was I a crazy king, a dreamer? They gave my crown to my crazy brother. They thought I was crazy, but how crazy is it to love beauty, to build beautiful castles, which people admire centuries later, to sleep by day, to live by night, to live in the embrace of sweet melancholy, alone, without formalities. Yes. Such a crazy king was I. Poet's note. Ludwig II was a very special king of Bavaria.

I was a beauty without equal, but my beauty did not save me. My mother locked me in a dark closet. I died even though I lived in all that dirt and smell, naked and ugly like an animal in a cage. My crime was to fall in love with the wrong man. I brought shame with my madness. The century changed and I knew nothing about it. My love kept me alive, but not in my mind for 25 years. When I saw the light again, my eyes could not stand it nor my soul nor my love. Poet's note. Blanche Monnier lived locked in a dark room for 25 years.

Paradise is lost, I, Judas, know. Christ asked me to betray Himself. I betrayed. I threw the silver coins into the temple. I hanged myself and my filthy life was over. But I still live, in all men lives a Judas. All betray their ideals in the end. They admit that they are Judases before they acknowledge that Love concerns all beggars of mercy. Poet's note. Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus.