An Attempt at French Poetry

The foreign languages department is having an arts night next week that I'm really excited about. Since the semester started I've been looking for an opportunity - an excuse - to write something creative that I could share on stage. Poetry feels like a dirty, self indulgent pleasure sometimes. It feels like clumsily paintbrush in my writing hand; and yet, somehow, it comes out to be something not entirely terrible.

I wasn't planning to perform anything at this arts night. Anything I do would have to be in French, and I don't want to embarrass myself with my poor grammar and pronunciation. I'm growing as a speaker, both in French and English, but I tremble enough without the added pressure of rolling rrr's and silent letters. But after talking with some of the other French Club executives I decided I might give it a go.

So here's my attempt, titled: Je ne pense pas.
Note: Written first in French, then translated to English.

<<Je pense donc je suis, >> Dit le philosophe.  Mais si je ne pense pas ?  Suis-je rien ?  Je me sens la froideur de la nuit.  L’obscurité couvrit  Mon corps, mon esprit.  Je suis seul, et je ne pense pas.  Je regards la lune brille,  Guider les étoiles à travers le ciel,  Et me Guider à travers le monde.  Je suis mouton – je ne pense pas.  Je m’assieds au sommet des montagnes,  Regarder l’aube. Je m’entends des voix,  Douces et chaudes. Des amis ?  Oui, je pense qu’ils sont des amis véritables.

"I think, therefore I am," Says the philosopher. But what if I do not think? Am I nothing? I feel the night's chill. The darkness covers My body, my mind. I am alone, and I do not think. I look upon the shining moon, guiding the stars across the sky and guiding me across the world. I am a sheep - I do not think. I sit at the mountains' summit, Watching the sunrise. I hear voices, soft and warm. Friends? Yes, I think they are true friends.