Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now. Keep the opened eyes, your tears escaping. Carrying, your chopped regrets, your words. Jetés to hurt free, the whole corroded by the culpability. To wander in the cacophony of these thoughts which upset you, that you cannot control. Submerged by your weaknesses, this surge of tenderness which you cannot choke. Do not leave to me now. Without to have closed again the book of your secrecies so that you can accept forgiveness, letting them escape. To breathe an air new, free, without these sufferings which came to saturate. Your laughter, your amused glances, which were buried little by little. In the repetition of these nightmares leaving you waked up. All at the end of the night before leaving faint tired. On water of the river curving in the meanders of your tormented life. But before me to leave lets peace enter. In to invade you, you, flood you. To make safe me, to know that you will be happy, released. There will remain to me only one last combat, to fight not to forget you. Don’t leave me now. I am afraid of this future without you, tetanize me. Impotent to stop for a few seconds time. In order to breathe you, to listen to you, make seeming. That we are like front. Indolent, imprudent Close Relations while believing. That all will remain thus us conspicuous, touching us. But that is false because now you from will go away. I then nothing for you to prevent some. It is not like front. I know it. I can only shout you. Don’t leave me now !
Lire la suiteNe me quitte pas maintenant
Ne me quitte pas maintenant. Garde les yeux ouverts, tes larmes s’échappant. Emportant, tes regrets, tes mots hachés. Jetés gratuitement pour faire mal, le tout rongé par la culpabilité. D’errer dans la cacophonie de ces pensées qui te bouleversent, que tu ne peux maîtriser. Submergée par tes faiblesses, cet afflux de tendresse que tu ne peux étouffer. Ne me quitte pas maintenant. Sans avoir refermé le livre de tes secrets pour que tu puisses accepter le pardon, les laissant s’échapper. Pour respirer un air nouveau, libre, sans ces souffrances qui sont venues saturer. Tes rires, tes regards amusés, qui se sont peu à peu enterrées. Dans la répétition de ces cauchemars te laissant éveillée. Tout au bout de la nuit avant de partir alanguie fatiguée. Sur les eaux de la rivière serpentant dans les méandres de ta vie tourmentée. Mais avant de me quitter laisse la paix entrer. En toi, t’envahir, t’inonder. Pour me sécuriser, savoir que tu seras heureuse, libérée. Il ne me restera qu’un dernier combat, lutter pour ne pas t’oublier. Ne me quitte pas maintenant. J’ai peur de ce futur sans toi, me tétanisant. Impuissant à arrêter pour quelques secondes le temps. Afin de te respirer, de t’écouter, faire semblant. Que nous sommes comme avant. Proches indolents, imprudents en croyant. Que tout restera ainsi nous voyant, nous touchant. Mais cela est faux car maintenant tu vas t’en aller. Je ne puis rien pour t’en empêcher. Ce n’est pas comme avant. Je le sais. Je ne peux que te crier. Ne me quitte pas maintenant !
Lire la suiteThe vapors of a lapse of memory
White lights slash the black veil of the night. The rain falls thick on steps which flee. In the one evening gravity of melancholy. Calm and peaceful with the listening of the noises. Of a race on out-of-date steps. There is the softness of the humid air, the silence of the trouble. Pleasure of gently splitting them in a deadened environment. Where loneliness has the softness of a welcome caress. The tenderness of an expected confession. Trailing like a sleepwalker in the middle of the streets. In search of an unknown feeling. Taste of sweetened or salted or another welcome savor. There is the absence of reference mark and time. Just the happiness or the one moment facility. Dreaming while disappearing. Behind the curtain of a fleeing fog. Shades among the shades closing again. The one day old door which sinks behind the veil of the melancholy. Leaving only the vapors of a lapse of memory.
Lire la suiteLes vapeurs d’un oubli
Des lumières blanches balafrent le voile noir de la nuit. La pluie tombe drue sur des pas qui s’enfuient. Dans la pesanteur d’un soir de mélancolie. Calme et paisible à l’écoute des bruits. D’une course sur des marches vieillies. Il y a la douceur de l’air humide, le silence de l’ennui. Le plaisir de les fendre doucement dans une ambiance endormie. Où la solitude a la douceur d’une caresse bienvenue. La tendresse d’une confession attendue. Traînant comme un somnambule au cœur des rues. A la recherche d’une sensation inconnue. Le goût du sucré ou du salé ou d’une autre saveur bienvenue. Il y a l’absence de repère et de temps. Juste le bonheur ou la facilité d’un instant. Rêvant en disparaissant. Derrière le rideau d’un brouillard s’enfuyant. Ombre parmi les ombres refermant. La porte d’un jour qui sombre derrière le voile de la mélancolie. Ne laissant que les vapeurs d’un oubli.
Lire la suiteA gleam shines
With the death of the night, at daybreak, a gleam shines the time of a measurement. Range by the song of a chorus introducing the Requiem of Mozart. Loan of an unhappiness which lasts. Whereas in our hearts nectar runs. From these long hours of darkness where we coiled ourselves. Protected by silence, given up in the comfort of settees, listening to the rustles of the night recovering us. You and raising me, us to throw the charts of our plays on the velvet of the table separating us. While outside the cold extends in whiteness from a white frost thickening. Looking at us the face lit by the reflections of the moon. Its rays going itself from there to seek fortune. In the mirror of the squares of this window covered with ice, opening our glances on the one morning atmosphere of winter. Later that the night which preserved the softness of our heat. Shine a gleam the time of a measurement. White, sinuous, being spread out capricious. In the sky, on the table, our hands, cooling the temperature. You shivering, me approaching. Without us to look at, us to speak. Just lovingly faint. Cherished by the rising of the morning. Observing the night fall asleep, the day to replace, calling it one following day. With our evening which lasted for ever. That we stretched to the borders. From this day when a gleam shines the time of a measurement that we forsake like a fading. Leaving at the day its kingdom, its phantoms. Ours do not have shades. Like us, they live in the half-light. Expecting this gleam which shines the time of a measurement. Single moment when as they we exist. Carried by the choice to still come out to rise over our nights. Terrible shiver. Making drunk, narcotic which brings the force to us not to sink at the bottom of a well. With the death of the night, at daybreak, while a gleam shines the time of a measurement. Range by the song of a chorus introducing the Requiem of Mozart. Loan of an unhappiness which lasts. Whereas in our hearts nectar runs. To be together so late. Join together in a passion which knocks like the chopped notes of a brass band. We do not have any more a body, we died. But, there remain the eyes of our memories to retranscribe. The softness of the things which shone upon our lives passed as these small hours when shines a gleam the time of a measurement. Tearing off the bars with our walls. Projecting our hopes of freedom which escape from it, their soft murmur. One day or the other with the death of the night, at daybreak, will shine lengthily a gleam breaking the tack of time, I ensure it to you. We will be there to observe it before from going away with it forever.
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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
