With the listening of the fears of the night.
Going on sand, the slow step. The face whipped by the wind. With the listening of silences of the night. Carried by the howling breath. Remembering. Of these words known as and repeated like oaths. The light of a headlight which shone. In a darkened sky. Pale copy of the colors of the life. Advancing while hesitating. Inhabited by the fear of fled memories. The knocking heart. With this obsession to be only invaded by an engrossing vacuum. The deserted moor, sand as far as the eye can see, sea advancing mechanically. In the distance, the throbbing sound of bells beating with the doors of a terrifying hell. Fear freezing blood, to the infiltrating heart. In a paralysing cold. At the borders of loneliness, knocking on the door of the melancholy. To Be only, to have wished it, finding in the abandonment the force to reappear with the gleam of a candle. Burning. At the top of a headlight, in the padded cocoon of the clouds of night. Progressing with difficulty. Against the whirling wind. To the right headlight like an I. Stiff body. Whipped by the corrosive breath. To approach some humbly. By pushing the door of darkness to know what there is inside. To assemble the steps to one, moistness breathing. Of a tower on it even whirling. Moonbeams marking out a climbing never not finishing.The heart in madness. To resist not to burst, fight to cherish the life. With the gleam of a candle. On it even waltzing in slow and spellbinding movements. Sadly. With the listening of the fears of the night.
Lire la suiteA l’écoute des peurs de la nuit
Marchant sur le sable, le pas lent. Le visage fouetté par le vent. A l’écoute des silences de la nuit. Portés par le souffle hurlant. Se souvenant. De ces mots dits et répétés comme des serments. La lumière d’un phare qui luit. Dans un ciel obscurci. Pâle copie des couleurs de la vie. Avançant en hésitant. Habité par la peur de souvenirs enfuis. Le cœur cognant. Avec cette obsession d’être seul envahi par un vide accaparant. La lande déserte, le sable à perte de vue, la mer avançant mécaniquement. Dans le lointain, le son lancinant de cloches battant aux portes d’un enfer terrifiant. L’effroi glaçant le sang, jusqu’au cœur s’infiltrant. Dans un froid paralysant. Aux frontières de la solitude, frappant à la porte de la mélancolie. Être seul, l’avoir désiré, trouvant dans l’abandon la force de renaître à la lueur d’une bougie. Brûlant. Au sommet d’un phare, dans le cocon ouaté des nuages de nuit. Progressant difficilement. Contre le vent tourbillonnant. Jusqu’au phare droit comme un i. Corps transi. Fouetté par le souffle mordant. S’en approcher humblement. En poussant la porte des ténèbres pour savoir ce qu’il y a dedans. Monter les marches une à une, la moiteur respirant. D’une tour sur elle même tournoyant. Les rayons de lune balisant une escalade jamais ne finissant.Le cœur en folie. Résister pour ne pas crever, lutter pour caresser la vie. A la lueur d’une bougie. Sur elle même valsant dans des mouvements lents et envoûtants. Mélancoliquement. A l’écoute des peurs de la nuit.
Lire la suiteI am believer of you. Atheist of me.
I would have the force to assemble on the lathe all up there to see the world, to listen to the noises of silence. I would have the force to give up the ground of my impatiences. Covers Over with Soil of my sufferings, compost of my insufficiencies. There, where my heart balances carried per so many unconcern. I would have the force to call the revolt which sleeps in me. To awake this deadened body, limed per so many laws. I want to break this obstacle as long as it is still the hour. The calculation of time is on the way but I am not afraid of it. I would have the force to scoff at the right sun in the eyes. Since it is necessary to not plunging my glance in the skies more. I am believer of you. Atheist of me. I would have the force to betray me, for better giving up me. With your sighs, your desires. At the point to die about it. This price is worth all your kisses. I would have the force to succumb and like. Before me to consume under your set ablaze glances. I would have these forces. You are in me, you are my bark.
Lire la suiteJe suis croyant de toi. Athée de moi
J’aurais la force de monter sur la tour tout là-haut pour voir le monde, écouter les bruits du silence. J’aurais la force d’abandonner le sol de mes impatiences. Terre de mes souffrances, terreau de mes insuffisances. Là, où mon cœur balance porté par tant d’insouciances. J’aurais la force d’appeler la révolte qui dort en moi. De réveiller ce corps endormi, englué par tant de lois. Je veux briser cette entrave tant qu’il en est encore l’heure. Le décompte du temps est en route mais je n’en ai pas peur. J’aurais la force de narguer le soleil droit dans les yeux. Quitte à ne plus plonger mon regard dans les cieux. Je suis croyant de toi. Athée de moi. J’aurais la force de me trahir, pour mieux m’abandonner. A tes soupirs, à tes désirs. Au point d’en mourir. Ce prix vaut tous tes baisers. J’aurais la force de succomber et d’aimer. Avant de me consumer sous tes regards embrasés. J’aurais ces forces. Tu es en moi. Toi écorce de moi.
Lire la suiteOne evening melancholy
One evening melancholy. In the guise of one black night. Recovering this past with the door of despair. Between regret and culpability. With the weight of this sin. To have forgotten you. Such a long time ago. That I could evacuate now. By throwing it to the wind. By burning it. By lying me. For better breathing. Washing my spirit of this thought. Who returns unceasingly. With the force of this promise. That I have you ridge to expect. Going until violating your dreamed to take them to you. Te leaving only on the terrace of our castle. Expecting the arrival of the night to bury your evils. Sinking in this trouble. Recovering of a black veil your melancholy. To be betrayed. By my promises, my absence, your weakness. To have hoped to change me. I fled. Incompetent to assume. Finding in the lapse of memory a new fatherland. Te leaving one goodbye in the last of my writings. Where I betrayed you once again. This evening, with the door of this night of melancholy. I returned. Looking at this sad landscape towards which you often waited. My return, a sign. Who never came. Only, I am it as you were it.
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
