The reason to love you
There could be the thunder and the rain, the wind and the fear There is the sun, calm, and heat. Your tempting peeling, radiant, being played. Shades, glances, threats, rails which trespass. You, strong and powerful, reigning on an invisible kingdom that you guards of an alleviating approach. There is this light which recovers you of a brilliance homage. That you accept for his softness, refusing its glare which has of equal only your rage. Contained, maintained in the glare of your eyes which you can make wise. Polished attitude of sovereign sometimes haughty. Knowing that its power, its force, are not beechnuts. In front of suzerains crawling to appease their hunger. , Lengthened you on the settee of your excesses. You, scorning all these unimportant details. Hiding the truth of its moments. Behind the closed mask of impassive features. There is truth, the forgery which you can make possible. Of a growl, an irritation. There is the love which you give to the account drips, with torrent, according to your whims of the moment. Actress victim of her irritations. Dominating queen, who can show manipulator. Sleep in you so much of feelings which can leave bubbling crossbred a castrating fury. In this moment of peace, reigns the moment weighing to seek to guess the direction of your silences. This eye hardly shining which returns offense. To be observed to seek to understand, to hope to hear. These words which you will never pronounce. This glance of love thrown to the flight. Who is your truth and the reason to love you.
Lire la suiteDon’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 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 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.
Lire la suiteA future without hope
In one night of flashes has spouts out a light running on ivy and the stone. Being spread out over the walls of a room to torn papers. Illuminant extinct sun history. Who deadened the children coming to rest there. A long time ago phantom of a past without a future. Letting the black settle crawling in a deafening thunder. Breaking the heart of the loves of yesterday. Lost in the steppe and the winter. Kidnapping the memories far from the house of childhood. Extinguishing the heat of the first years of insolence. Adolescence flees in the departure of those which lived it. Leaving the house empties without anybody to like nor to protect. Fall the tears from a professional singer singing the sad notes of a cursed opera. Crying the slow death of this cooled body. To have too much suffered to be forsaken. Reason in echo the song of black angels. Low Heads taking again with keep silent head the refrain. Of a future without hope. Leaving only the sand of a memory slipping by between the hands. Slow disintegration of a house being erased under a cluster of ruins. In one night of flashes inviting itself under drizzle. Indefatigably knock the beat of time like the metronome of a phantom opera. Tearing off the last forces of life, carrying the song of a professional singer pointing out these scars. Inflicted by the abandonment, covered by ivy like last artifice with misery. Being erased in the desert of empty parts of reference mark. That the night recovers of a black veil. The memory of those falls asleep then which lived it until their ultimate evening.
Lire la suiteThere is …
There is the cold, silence, the weight weighing of the absence. There are these brilliant reflections on the ground like an insolence. The diffuse sound of one strolls escaping from a room. Two bodies in the evening of November pitch. There are you and me in the black. Going step by step on the same pavement. There is the obliteration of time. Who exhausts us oppressive. Leaving us only the vacuum. In which one is inserted avid. To flee the dark roofs of our city. Who do not accommodate any more our asylum. There is this concerto for piano. Slow, dark and beautiful. Who returns to me at the head. Your hand in mine like one night of festival. A long time ago. With the spellbinding pleasure. To have the memory of this soft moment like that one charming moment. There are all these short periods of life. Who linked us. Stuck ones to the others to braid the cord. On which passion was built that one agrees. There is the quivering of the air. Carrying the cold of the winter. You shiver, I feel it. Without the need to make mysteries. With time. I learned how to understand you before even hearing you. There is this stammering of an end perhaps that of a new beginning. Slowly, as the street is erased. That we lose sight of the fact, it in what we sometimes believed. There is the absence of regrets. The need to move away. Thus that must occur in all humility. Do not remain that the diffuse sound of one strolls escaping from a room. Two bodies in the evening of November pitch. For all to start again.
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
