One month ago one year I do not know more
One month ago, one year, I do not know more. So for a long time I remember more. The vacuum and nothing came to replace our dashes. On banks of our walks to the son of the years. Gently, so slowly, hanging time. With the wild spines of pinks. Pushing at the edge of the beaches. Girdling our castle made sleepy in the black. Bordered of ciels nostalgic deadening our evenings. One month ago, one year, I do not know more. So for a long time I remember more. Imagining a life enters the walls. Kings, queens having proud paces. Horses gallopping on banks. Gone up by knights with the colors sharp. Moving away while shouting. In the disappearing distance. Leaving a spellbinding silence. One month ago, one year, I do not know more. So for a long time I remember more. The water cherished by the wind. Waves being formed. Arriving wind. Of a sweeping reverse. Images of an attractive world. Where we walked merrily. One month ago, one year, I do not know more. So for a long time I remember more. The sand of our mirages between the fingers was gone from there. The castle did not change. The pinks continue to push. Their spines to prick. Only, we evolved in the mirror of a time come to erase us. Giving to our silhouettes more clearness. Diffuse, they frayed. Transparent, forgotten. One month ago, one year, I do not know more. So for a long time I remember more. Remain only the decoration of our dreams. The days which are repeated without truce. Lovers who haunt the strikes. Before all is not completed. In a short history. One month ago, one year, I do not know more. So for a long time I remember more.
Lire la suiteIl y a un mois, un an, je ne sais plus
Il y a un mois, un an, je ne sais plus. Il y a si longtemps que je ne me rappelle plus. Le vide et le néant sont venus remplacer nos élans. Sur les rives de nos promenades au fils des ans. Doucement, si lentement, accrochant le temps. Aux épines de roses sauvages. Poussant au bord des plages. Ceinturant notre château assoupi dans le noir. Bordé de ciels nostalgiques endormant nos soirs. Il y a un mois, un an, je ne sais plus. Il y a si longtemps que je ne me rappelle plus. Imaginant une vie entre les murs. Des rois, des reines ayant fières allures. Des chevaux galopant sur les rives. Montés par des chevaliers aux teintes vives. S’éloignant en criant. Dans le lointain disparaissant. Laissant un silence envoutant. Il y a un mois, un an, je ne sais plus. Il y a si longtemps que je ne me rappelle plus. L’eau caressée par le vent. Des vagues se formant. Le vent arrivant. D’un revers balayant. Les images d’un monde fascinant. Où nous marchions gaiement. Il y a un mois, un an, je ne sais plus. Il y a si longtemps que je ne me rappelle plus. Le sable de nos mirages entre les doigts s’en est allé. Le château n’a pas changé. Les roses continuent de pousser. Leurs épines de piquer. Seuls, nous avons évolué dans le miroir d’un temps venu nous effacer. Donnant à nos silhouettes plus de clarté. Diffuses, elles se sont effilochées. Transparentes, oubliées. Il y a un mois, un an, je ne sais plus. Il y a si longtemps que je ne me rappelle plus. Ne reste que le décor de nos rêves. Les jours qui se répètent sans trêve. Des amants qui hantent les grèves. Avant que tout ne s’achève. Dans une histoire brève. Il y a un mois, un an, je ne sais plus. Il y a si longtemps que je ne me rappelle plus.
Lire la suiteThere is always a sun which lies down
There is always a sun which lies down. One black night that one touches. Eyes, glance, letting itself deaden. By the languor of a time come to daze. The weakness to have believed to hold. The world enters the hands and to dazzle itself. Building bridges to be conquered. Firm eyes; remember. Sun come to dazzle us. These escaped hours. Carried to have forgotten them. You and me. A slow fox trot carried by water. Believing in eternity or pretending to imagine it. In your arms, speaking with words about love. These certainty for always. Wanting to believe in it. Without seeking to know. That there is always a sun which lies down. One black night that one touches. Arrival to put an end to date that one would like without end. Cold announcing a new following day. Detaching your fingers among mine. Extinguishing the glare of the eyes, our glances, while letting itself deaden. By the languor of a time come to daze. The hope gives to have hoped to hold. A piece of eternity without managing to maintain it. Firm eyes; remember. Sun come to dazzle us. Stopped time, this fixed feeling. That around us come to disappear. Noise, fury, fears of dying. There remains only silence. This insolence. To hold the life between our hands. To play with without end. Your eyes mutineers. Our tender. Locked Up that one could release. While coming to break the crystal of our eternity. To find this idea. That there is always a sun which lies down. One black night that one touches. One pitches, drunk. On a raft thrown to the river. One derives in one black night covered from white frost. You are cold, you tremble on this road buissonnière. To go until the end of the end. We are insane. There is not that the insane ones. To cling together, fiercely. Carrying the eyes, the glance, while letting itself deaden. By the languor of a time come to daze. The weakness to have believed to hold. The world enters the hands to dazzle itself. By building bridges on water to be conquered. One believed oneself immortal. One day, it was most beautiful.
Lire la suiteOn se croyait immortels
Il y a toujours un soleil qui se couche. Une nuit noire que l’on touche. Des yeux, du regard, se laissant endormir. Par la langueur d’un temps venu étourdir. La faiblesse d’avoir cru tenir. Le monde entre les mains et s’éblouir. Jetant un pont pour se conquérir. Ferme les yeux; souviens-toi. Du soleil venu nous éblouir. Ces heures échappées. Emportées pour les avoir oubliées. Toi et moi. Un slow porté par les eaux. Croyant à l’éternité ou feignant de l’imaginer. Dans tes bras, parlant avec des mots d’amour. Ces certitudes pour toujours. Voulant y croire. Sans chercher à savoir. Qu’il y a toujours un soleil qui se couche. Une nuit noire que l’on touche. Venue mettre un terme à ce jour que l’on voudrait sans fin. Le froid annonçant un nouveau lendemain. Détachant tes doigts d’entre les miens. Éteignant l’éclat des yeux, de nos regards, en se laissant endormir. Par la langueur d’un temps venu étourdir. L’espoir fou d’avoir espéré détenir. Une parcelle d’éternité sans parvenir à la maintenir. Ferme les yeux; souviens-toi. Du soleil venu nous éblouir. Du temps arrêté, cette sensation figée. Qu’autour de nous viennent de s’évanouir. Le bruit, la fureur, les peurs de mourir. Il ne reste que le silence. Cette insolence. De tenir la vie entre nos mains. De jouer avec sans fin. Tes yeux mutins. Nos câlins. Enfermés que l’on pourrait libérer. En venant briser le cristal de notre éternité. Pour retrouver cette idée. Qu’il y a toujours un soleil qui se couche. Une nuit noire que l’on touche. On tangue, ivres. Sur un radeau jeté à la rivière. On dérive dans une nuit noire couverte de givre. Tu as froid, tu trembles sur cette route buissonnière. Pour aller jusqu’au bout du bout. Nous sommes fous. Il n’y a que des fous. Pour s’accrocher ensemble, vent debout. Portant les yeux, le regard, en se laissant endormir. Par la langueur d’un temps venu étourdir. La faiblesse d’avoir cru tenir. Le monde entre les mains pour s’éblouir. En jetant un pont sur les eaux pour se conquérir. On se croyait immortels. Une journée, ce fut la plus belle.
Lire la suiteDo you hear the sound deformed of the end of the world to approach?
Do you hear the sound deformed of the end of the world to approach? Do you feel your body to change under the violent thorough one? Bad wind come to sweep us. I see you shivering, me to tremble. I have badly all to see from to go away. I would like to hang up again me with the idea that nothing still passed. That all can arrive. I would like to awake me, always to hope. In triviums, details, all these things which hurt me and which I liked. I cannot any more, I do not know. What to touch, your skin, your hands, to kiss you. To twist the fate, to entreat it. To retrogress in the misted silence of our shared moods. To wish themselves, bicker, devour themselves, find themselves. You tell me that one should not panic. But I am afraid of the idea to give up us. More than the wind sweeping your hair gotten mixed up. More than suffers it from the awaked volcano. Who approaches, will burn us. There remain still a few seconds to be imagined. To seek the word, the gleam which will be able in your eyes to sparkle. I could tell you that I loved you. It is too banal, it is… Sad and blade summarized of all that you brought to me. The end of the world will consume us. Nothing to leave of what one was. I do not want to mark the history, nor to even remain. I cannot any more look at you. The black wrapped us. It will be necessary to forget. There will be the vacuum then eternity. Cold, our carbonized bodies. Perhaps our mixed dust? They will continue to attract each other. It is the idea that I want to take along whereas my body is quartered, broken. Will Remain this only truth. That we will continue to love us. In spite of our crumbled bodies. Forever. In the dust of the disseminated lapse of memory.
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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
