I dream of a strong love
I dream of a strong and spellbinding love. Carrying me to the sources of the elation. In a soft torpor administering chloroform to. My doubts and my excuses. Sailing on lazes of the abandonment. The raft of our union. Free of all concessions. We will lead to the subsoils. Of this marvellous dream. Drawing on the web skies. The gold sparkling of our eyes. Brilliance of an insane and fabulous love. Lengthened on the ground of eternity. We will learn how to love us. In wisdom not to hate us. Carried by our kisses and our projects. But the dream of this strong and spellbinding love. Born in the drift from my adding spirit. The fear of a suffering body. Impossible existence of this firmament. The insupportable wandering of another artificial nourishes. Hugged in a parallel world. Without ground, neither fall, nor sky. Where only the words have the softness of the flight of a swallow.
Lire la suiteOur last hours
In the exaggeration of an extreme slowness. On your face the expression was born from the fear. Equipped with the cry of the fear which entrails go up until me. Face with the contracted features being spread out stretched over the cross. Marks of one throbbing pain through you. Spectator of the shade extinguishing our insurance imprisoned in the limbs of the impotence. Range by the melody afflicted with a piano plunged into mourning. Running out on the white and the black sobs of my tears. Posing in the exaggeration of an extreme slowness. On your face the iron of the fear. I see you. To move away you from me. Without you not moving. Without I not moving. Separated by this intolerable break from time. Parcelling out the truth of the moment. Lie of the lapse of memory. Paralysing our deadened memories. Rocked the notes insolentes of a piano of the autumn. Being posed on this unfertile ground where my steps reason. I remain there. Captured by the exaggeration of an extreme slowness. That I cannot retain. Beyond my pain. Inhabited of this soft one day dream to return. Further the lapse of memory remembers. Near to your face to the opened out features. Tasting the honey of an eternal passion. But, I lie myself preventing that mourning bewitches me. Seeking in the exaggeration of an extreme slowness. The softness of your heat leaving me only without your odor. Holding, in the yellowed photograph of our lives, the account of our disappeared memories. Haunted of this cry come from the bottom of the night. Bequeathed in the exaggeration of an extreme slowness. This day when the languor of the cursed piano played our last hours.
Lire la suiteUnperceivable crumbling of time
Unperceivable crumbling of time. Strike the honesty of our feelings. Throbbing doubt. Of a cold and extreme wind. Escaping from the obscure and disconcerting pole. Fissured ice of our abatement. Unperceivable crumbling of time. Weaken the breath of our oaths. Violent ones and burning. Jetés too precipitately. In devouring fire. Dying out blazing inferno of our overflowings. Unperceivable crumbling of time. Vagrant enters the pulsations of weak beats. Of an atrophied heart being blown. To the rhythm of vibrating steps. Of a life to be accepted the firmament. Of a scintillating sky. Unperceivable crumbling of time. By steep ways fleeing. With stolen the honey and the salt of our howls. Wearing the nap off. In the wear of permanent friction. Igniting flint with the characters. Unperceivable crumbling of time. Transpierce the wavering future. Of our being given up sky. With the dark and cold grounds cooling. Under the weight of crushing clouds. Carrying the grin of our dying love. Unperceivable crumbling of time. Inhabited corrosive hooks. With plowed our present. Making run the watery regret. Of a blazing past. Buried under the cross of our torments. Unperceivable crumbling of time. Entered our lives while running. With the settling dash of the routine. Deadening our directions killing them. Of a steel shining and cutting. Running out blood. Carrying the unperceivable crumbling of time. Come to strike the honesty of our feelings. Throbbing doubt. Of a cold and extreme wind. Escaping from the obscure and disconcerting pole. Fissured ice of our quartering.
Lire la suiteIn the vault of our lapses of memory.
There is this a little fuzzy veil. Who darkens the memory. This small nothing which increases the distance between us. Drawing the slow movement. Goes and from comes. Between the morning and the evening. There is this veil to know more. Without being able to think that it is too late. Without managing to believe that it still remains of the hope. There is this veil which one cannot be unaware of. In order to make seeming. Masking exceeded time. Imperceptibly in the being shelled sand glass. Filtering the colors of our passion. Fallen with knees in front of the cross from the renouncement, abdication. There is this veil which one wove. By abandonment or will. History to flee behind the facility of what one wanted to be unaware of. There is this veil which one let tighten. To avoid splitting itself. Behind words of explanation, faces made up to mislead. White like false virginity. Our well-worn words. Polluted meaningless sentences. Having lost the heart of their petrol. There is this veil which protects our misted eyes. Not to have the courage to show them. For all to start again. It there this veil which it is not interdict to tear. Since it is necessary to us to find. Given up in the vault of our lapses of memory. Veil that you could carry like a bride. Me, going to your sides.
Lire la suiteYour shadows
In you, deadened, coiling itself hidden. In the meanders of your last years to dodge it. Hidden in this major zone. Where sometimes you dark. Safe from your conscience. Dividing your life in two for that which balances. Between the white and the black. Nourishing itself late the evening. Crumbs of joy that your sorrow manufactured. Forgetting happiness for misfortune. To lose its reference marks. For this bitter sweetened taste. Who gives to the skeleton of your thought. Who lives to you, posing on your fixed face. The icy glance of your perversity. I fear to meet her. Having crossed. With the one day turning bad. Where you sank. Without you to give an account which you took the way of your catacombs. Last front door the tomb. Open coffin releasing the stinking air of this remote region. Pollutant your heart dressed with the colors in your rancour. Against all and the world. Beyond your fears. Seeking to make up your spite in round forms. Administering chloroform to your brittleness. For better misleading, rooking, to usurp an identity. Of a being equipped with weakness. Losing itself in the labyrinth of its contradictions. Who little by little subside. Under the cruel weight. Inaction. Active share of this remote region which becomes to him natural. Released in freedom to sow the bad one. Who in me opens the wings. Of these demons which doze. That I believed controlled. But that you bewitch. By drawing the string. Grid closing their prison. I tremble with the idea of their release.
Lire la suite« At the bottom of wood a vault dies »
On the being reduced way. Between the trees growing. Appears unimportant. The body of an infante. Tears on the running out face. Sobs intersecting. This complaint devouring it. “At the bottom of wood a vault dies. Crying over its furnace bridge. Watery notes of a requiem. Its torn stolen agreements. With the worms of a forgotten poem. Oozing on walls of blood. Running out to the rhythm of a dying heart. At the bottom of wood a vault dies. Crying over its furnace bridge. Watery notes of a requiem. Pushing until the blasphemy. Love and hatred. Like the last turn. Strewing the ground with cold and unhappiness. Parades failing of an ultimate mass. Without believer, nor penitent absent for always. At the bottom of wood a vault dies. Crying over its furnace bridge. Watery notes of a requiem. Shouting the hope that it is liked. In the distress of its loneliness. Lapse of memory eternal of his turpitudes. Veil growing. Among a vegetation choking it. At the bottom of wood a vault dies. Crying over its furnace bridge. Watery notes of a requiem”. Telling the fear of an infante. Panicked to die of a slow death.
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
