One day we will take the same train together.
There is at the end of the rails this point luminous which obsesses you, that you look at each morning. You believe that he shows you the way. That to flee, leave far. You speak about your destiny. You hate your days without following days. You groan, you lime pits. Without end. What can I offer to you if is not to tighten you the hand? It is little in your eyes, for me it is what it me remains, I am on the decline. I want to escape to me towards the distance. It seems to me that between us there remain nothing any more. But, I suspect you of wanting to go up with me in the same train. Your words are dubious. Your attitudes are borrow of scorn. However, at the bottom of your eyes still shine a weak gleam as when you were made whore. We liked our tender, our feasts. Then which is your intention? To Leave, remain, today or tomorrow? When will you decide you, finally? Do you give a direction to this behavior which does not have anything pain-killer? It disturbs me, broke ou ecrin. I believe of anything any more, neither in you, neither in me, nor with the divine one. I look at the rails of this train, this luminous point in the distance but I do not see there any more our way. It is inhuman. You remainders, you do not leave, you are each morning there. I rise frightened, opens the shutters, see you in the garden. The fear of your absence moves away until tomorrow. You will see the rails, the flashes of the distance. All will start again like yesterday, like the other days but that does not have anything airspeed indicator. It is the madness of our daily newspaper. Our long fall in a abyme without end. The day when I met you, I knew that in you an imp dozes. It corrodes little by little your destiny. Consume those which approach with your hand. Without brake, we are gotten into the same train. The character of our drift frightens me, unhealthy, it becomes superhuman. I take little by little a malignant pleasure. You know it, the madness gain my body, my heart, force-feed feast. This is why you remainders, you do not leave, you understood that one day we will take the same train together.
Lire la suiteThey loved each other
To tighten the hand. To capture stars of the sky to one. To thread in gold pearls on the wire of my love. To deposit the collar around your neck. So that you feel beautiful. To catch the moon. To seize you to offer it. To plunge your eyes in its mirror. To see you, like. To blow on the flames of the world, to revive the glare of your eyes. To be hot, be well. To slip into your nightmares. In driving out the devils, the dragons. To sleep in peace. To take the hand to you. To go to the wire of the months, the years. To be happy. To pass the hands on your wrinkles. To cherish the furrows of my passion. To advance together. To stop the seasons. To remain in summer. Not to arch, hesitate, stagger. To be cold in winter. To fight, resist. To Fight. To leave together. With this sentence on our tomb. They loved each other.
Lire la suiteHow long, did I pass with you ?
The monotony of the rainy days came to ooze of trouble on the walls of your building. You look at them dripping of this dislike which wearies you. You could flee, to flee. But, cowardice comes to gain you, nibble you, eat you. It puts to you in crumbs. Your ideas of revolt are only words which you throw to exist, to deceive you. Even you, you do not believe yourself.You exist only by pushing the grid of your building when you return in your box of rat. You have the choice to leave. But to go where? Your horizon stops at the end of your street. There is never sun in your street. Large buildings protect you before plunging in the mouth of the subway. Do you still Know that some share pushes grass? You are afraid of the insects, of the birds. You are mutant. Then why to speak you about feelings? It would be necessary that you open the eyes, that you look at, to understand, open, be emotional, not to think more but of you. It is too much to require of you. You are the single person that your being still accepts. The others, all the others are hidden behind the trees of your forest. It pushed with the years putting your life in waste land. Most wild of the animals would be afraid to lose itself there in the blackness of these days without sun. You are there well. Also, the door of your large building pushes, hides behind his walls. Forget me. On the other side of the bars, I seize freedom, that which does you fear. How long, did I pass with you on the bad side of this grid? I do not have a figure. I know that it was too…
Lire la suiteThe beach
I looked at you leaving. Without weakening. Thus that was to finish. Your face did not have any more smiles. Sad to die about it. Didn’t mine accept any more our reality, to make seeming, to disguise it? I wanted to prohibit it to me. To continue, for all to rot? To betray? Months, years of pleasure? To pollute the memory of our laughter? To trample the images of our lives to groan about it? It was necessary to accept, forgive, not to punish us. On the beach, for the last time, to link us in a smile never to hate us. On the beach, your back, your silhouette which moves away for all to finish. The waves erased the traces of your steps without quivering. The sun of winter is assembled in the sky for all to bleach. You disappeared behind this veil without weakening. Together, we had never existed, our history could not to more belong us. Without weakening, I looked at you leaving. In a last sigh.
Lire la suiteThe door at the top of the staircase
The door at the top of the staircase was closed again. The steps moved away after the last turn from key. In the part, the night fell. Silence settled. Sometimes, under the door a bit of clearness slips by. There is nobody any more to awake. In an armchair a headstock, the gotten mixed up hair rests. There is no more child to shout or have fun. More smoke in the chimney, more meal to be consumed. On the wrists of door sleep of the spiders as if nothing had never been. A given up house, forgotten, without destiny. One day, perhaps, of the steps the stairs will go up. They will open the door, the eyes opened wide to see beyond the darkness. Will they be able to imagine our wild dances, our rested sleeps, our agitated years, our completed lives? They will take the headstock like a trophy of our old years, from will go away without regret, the step in a hurry. They will sell our released walls of a ball. It we will leave time, all these years of darkness the closed door. It is there to protect us. We do not need more to see us to love us.
Lire la suiteI cannot forget you.
I came at the edge of the lake where we came to walk. The Weather is cold, the birds flew away, this night it will freeze. The sun slips behind the trees of the forest. Their shades extend on water. I like silence, the cold which arrives. You are not there to speak to me. I feel your presence, like front. As these evenings in the middle of the summer when we came to be posed at the edge of water without speaking, without us to touch. We sought this silence in which we wanted to wrap ourselves to protect us, to divide, us to like. The minutes passed, the hours fled, the night fell. But one wanted to only remain. As this evening when you are not there any more. The shades of the forest lick me the feet. I am refrigerated. I cannot from go away. There is only there that I feel your presence as in this deep past. There is only there that I can fight not to forget you. The sound of your voice is now deformed, the disturbed glare of your eyes. My memories are distorted. I need to hang up again me with our truth. I came at the edge of the lake where we came to walk. I cannot forget you.
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
