Le dernier matin
Un mystère. La pesanteur de l’air. Qui nous environne. Nous emprisonne. Respirer. Exister. Ne plus étouffer. Trouver de l’air. Sortir de ce mystère. Qui nous atterre. Plus bas que terre. Si proche de l’enfer. Exister. Respirer. Se toucher. Se serrer. Pour remonter. Vers le soleil. Qui étincelle. Rebelle. Derrière. La barrière. De nuages. Un mirage ? Ou est-ce l’âge ? De croire en ces chimères. Les notes amères. D’un piano désaccordé. Par tant d’années. A être frappé, martyrisé. De nos doigts agacés. Ne nous font plus valser. Respirer. Exister. Répété. Y penser sans arrêt. Entretenir le mystère. De l’enfer. De nos vieilles années. Aux corps abîmés. A l’esprit léger. Étouffé. Par nos carcasses rouillées. Incapables de bouger. Dans la pesanteur de l’air. A l’odeur de terre. Où nous irons nous allonger. Sans être allé derrière. La barrière. De nuages. Où étincelle. Ce soleil. Sans pareil. Au goût de miel. Exister. Respirer. Pour croire encore que l’on est vrai. Habillés de notre lâcheté. Qui nous a si souvent protégés. Pour nous dérober. Ne pas assumer. Ce matin. Elle ne sert plus à rien. C’est la fin. Il n’y aura plus d’autre lendemain. Juste ce dernier matin. Dans le mystère. De la pesanteur de cet air trop lourd à respirer pour exister.
Lire la suiteOur first secrecy
I gave you go in front of the statue. With the gotten mixed up bodies. With the exhausted heads. Under the disproportionate weight. Of an immoral being. Who did not generate himself. To splash you. Of its obscenity. All is exaggerated. The forgery, truth. The heavy one, the light one. You so fragile. You seem crushed. At side. Of this is delirious of body and animals. Until the end of the storm. Who gave birth to. Of this monster to the enlightened face. Asking to be carried. Not managing to move. Nor to even move. To overlap. An animal with its feet lowered. With diluted peeling. With the humiliated eyes. You remained to observe them. By far, I looked at you. I did not dare to advance. With what you did think? I did not wonder it. I saw that you smiled. I would never know. Until where the dream took you along. It is your property. I will not come to violate it. Nor even in speaking. Because I saw shining a star of your intimacy. That which you do not want to reveal. This statue slipped between us our first secrecy.
Lire la suiteNotre premier secret
Je t’ai donné rendez-vous devant la statue. Aux corps emmêlés. Aux têtes exténuées. Sous le poids démesuré. D’un être dépravé. Qui ne se générait. De t’éclabousser. De son obscénité. Tout est exagéré. Le faux , le vrai. Le lourd, le léger. Toi, si fragile. Tu sembles écrasée. A côté. De ce délire de corps et de bêtes. Jusqu’au bout de la tempête. Qui a enfanté. De ce monstre au visage illuminé. Demandant à être porté. Titanesque. Ne parvenant pas à se déplacer. Grotesque. Ni même à bouger. Ubuesque. Pour chevaucher. Un animal à ses pieds. Au pelage délavé. Les yeux humiliés. Tu es restée à les observer. De loin, je t’ai regardée. N’osant avancer. A quoi as-tu pensé ? Je ne te l’ai pas demandé. J’ai vu que tu souriais. Je ne saurais jamais. Jusqu’où le rêve t’a emmené. Il est ta propriété. Je ne viendrai la violer. Ni même en parler. J’ai vu scintiller une étoile de ton intimité. Que tu ne veux dévoiler. Cette statue ayant glissé entre nous notre premier secret.
Lire la suiteThe diamonds of the day
I do not have the ability to retain diamonds of the day. Nor to be able to reverse the infinite return of the nights which extinguish our lights. To wait like always. To wait to re-examine your face to leave our misery. Us them hearts given up by the life. Who have only the trouble. To furnish their existence with phantom. Like kids. Without relative. Who trail themselves like wandering cats. Looking at. The slow sleep. Come to seize the alive ones. Closed eyes. Imagining. The benefit to dream. We are private. Forever. However. We did not forget. Front. When the evening us fermions doors and windows. Carefree men. Because breathing. Or perhaps. Candidate. Ad infinitum of a life. Ridges of lights, beautiful nights. Driving out. The trouble. It was yesterday. Today. There remains to us the prayer. To be able to retrogress. To be on the other side of the barrier. To close the eyes. To dream of us two. While knowing. That tomorrow. For this other morning. I will be able to offer diamonds of the day to you. For always.
Lire la suiteWords of love
Sat on the bench to look at the sea. Boats. The city. The clouds which are stretched. Languorously. I hear your melancholy. The delicate sound of the violins of your heart. Who cry not to know. Where goes time? That which is stretched in you. Depriving you. Of this joy which attaches you so much. Cutting down your life by imagination. For the benefit of this melancholy. Who pushes you to imagine that elsewhere. You will find happiness. But, it cannot live in you. The colors of your heart are gray. Incompetents to see the world differently. However. I tell you the opposite. I lie you. So that you hope. That my lie protects you. To put safe from the winter, of all these snows. Of all these chasms of which you could not raise you. I like your brittleness. The hot blood of your sensitivity. Being spread out over the carmine of your lips. That I like to embrace. That I want forever.
Lire la suite
J'aime ce qui est gothique, ce qui est romantique, je vous présente mes textes et mes photos. I like what is gothic, what is romantic, I present my texts and photos Steffan Urell
