One day, one morning
One day, one morning, a beach. The light which is erased. Silhouettes which intertwine. In the decoration of an image. Sand under the feet. Gently to trail. Without another project. To dawdle. In the fresh air of a shaded sky. Carried by the one winter melancholy. On the ground and the sea. Silence and its mysteries. Until where the glance falls down. On the wall of the limits of time. With the chance. To accept the imaginary country. Its glowing suns. The falling asleep evening. When. The light which is erased. Forsake the silhouettes which intertwine. In the lapse of memory of a nostalgia. On the web of a beach without patronym. Ghostly. Disappearing in the wall from time. Diabolic. Assemble the melody. Throbbing of a skinned way. Whispering. Faint whims. Of a deadened wind. Loan to be awaked. For all to sweep. And to start again. One day, one morning, a beach. The light which is erased. Silhouettes which intertwine. In the decoration of an image. This impotence to be able to only forget. Fragmented short periods of life. Incompetent to awake them. Or to preserve them. In the freezer of a memory. Selective and ridiculous. Knock the slow movement. Beam of time. While sowing. Star particles. The one moment space. When the veil rises. Modest of a bracket of eternity. Filled with wonder eyes. Sand under the feet. Gently to trail. Without another project. To dawdle.
Lire la suiteThis morning
This morning, the frost extends on the fields and near. The sun is rising. I leave to meet you. Of a given step. This idea opening the doors of eternity to me. In the one morning old air covered in mist. I know. That you are there to haunt. Wood and forests. To play. With you to approach. Of to accompany me. The light heart. To amuse you. Of my distressed nightmares. With me to ask. If, you did not forget me. For you to be about it in alley. One evening, in the night of a sad evening. A long time ago, since so much of years. It is almost unobtrusive. It is not true. For you, I do not want to imagine it. For me, it is the fear of my days. On standby of a sign, a breath to hope. All to start again. As so of nothing was not. All at the end of an alley. The breath of a scented air. The recall of memories to accompany you. I dare to dream. To find you. At this hour when one was going to trail. Among the one morning old shades badly awaked. There was. Glowing sun, corrosive cold, your frozen hands. Our measured steps. Not to fall. On the icy ground. Our pond with imprisoned water. Under a compressed ice. Silence, the last moments of hesitation enters the night and the day, the idea. To embrace itself. Cold of your nose. Our amused smiles. This morning, the frost extends on the fields and near. The sun is rising. I leave to meet you. In remembering this past. I do not know if I will meet you. There remains to me happiness to imagine. A less value not to regret. Not to have sought you. The batch of my days. Desperate waiting. Of a past. Evaporated.
Lire la suiteOne morning of vampires
The day wakes up slowly. Stretching itself on the firmament. Pushing the night. Marking the end of the infinite one. With far gently. Our deadened languors. Tenderly, cordially. Between numb trees. By a corrosive cold. The salt of a bewitchment. On your lips cherishing. My desire violently. In your arms pressing me. Snuggled magnet. The darkness which flees. Our stiff bodies. Dazzled soon. By an extreme sun. The scarification of a bewitchment. On our skins brutally. Our martyr irresistibly. Towards death throwing us. To still wait a moment. A desire. Remainders of a life. Both joined together. Of a suffocating love. The burn of a volcano. On our hearts irremediably. In dust reducing to us. Towards a separation carrying us. Dreaming of a tear of time. Made feeble. Falling gradually. Blessed you and me. By this moment. The caress of an ultimate event. Slowing Down our fainding. Skimming us. Front. Our obliteration. Fatally. Us them cursed lovers. Wandering during the night. At the end of the infinite one. One morning of vampires. Our last sigh.
Lire la suiteThis morning
This morning, the frost fell. On the fields and near. This morning, the frost lengthened. On frozen grasses. Cracking under the feet. Me going from there to find you. I know. That you expected me. Waits, refrigerated. Since all these years. I do not want to humiliate you. I go from a step in a hurry. To avoid you. Of you impatienter. In the head the covered in mist requiem. Of a made fragrant memory. Ours, almost forgotten. Carried. By the river come to cart. The good and the bad one. Between channeled banks. The fussy one to steal it to us. Without being able to it to be opposed. This morning, the frost fell. To revive. The wound. Our marked hearts. Blocked by fate. To have to be erased. Vis-a-vis the destiny. Without being able anything to prevent. I come to find you. Near to this river which carried you. Without face, anything to hang up again itself. Deriving towards the infinite abyss. Without cross to remember. The vacuum to imagine. Your smiles, our be delirious atrophied. Under the weight of years. Veiled to be itself stray. I am mortified. In Front of this impossibility. To put a face on the reflection. Mirror of water in a hurry. That I am alone to look at. Seeking to speak to you. To tell You my regrets. I believe that you can listen to them. I need to think it. Not to make feel guilty. To fight after all these years. This morning, the frost fell. On the tomb of our past. It was needed. To veil the worn colors. This imposed fate. To be separate. You, in a world which I cannot imagine. From where you must look at me. Perhaps to judge me? I did not forget you. That you cannot reproach it to me. I like to seek you. Carried by the melancholy of an unobtrusive time. Where one liked. To find itself. In the fields and near. At the edge of the river, the feet wet. To look at floating our projects. Letting derive. On the sticks which we had thrown. To transport them. Hold went. Further that mine, a fate. I envied you. One day, I did not forget. You left to find them. This morning, the frost fell. On the fields and near. This morning, the frost lengthened. On frozen grasses. Cracking under the feet. Me going from there to find you. I know. That you expected me. I have still the force to hope for it.
Lire la suiteThe length of ours nights
The length of ours nights breathes the languor of ours souls. On the walls our shades in all the directions crumble. Tested to wander on the ground and in the airs. Not finding more image in the reflections of the past. Disturbed, gently hemmed. On the pavement the slow step of passers by trails. I intend you to whisper yourself tenderly. Are we still alive? Listen To the wind, looks in front. Lights of the night. Extending; you and me going towards the infinite one. Without goal, nor desire. Just invaded. By the moon, the cold recovering us. Remember the rays of the sun. Their heat, flight of the bees. This softness bewitching. There remain words to maintain the memory. Without feeling it. It was well. Better than our shades snuggled and stiff in the half-light. Do you remember ? Our alarm clocks, fog in the fields, the languor of each morning. Bathed softness, of torpor. Stretching itself until more hour. It was well. A long time ago. I lie you. I remember any more nothing. Do not remain that our shades crumbling on the walls. All these things of which I am not sure any more. Wind, rain, the color of your eyes, odor of your hair. It is too far. Are we still alive? I can speak to you about the Sleeping Beauty. To make seeming tenderly, lovingly. to Save time. Over the next night, the following ones, before returns. On the pavement the slow step of the passers by. Our shades eroding by repeating the wearying way. To know more if one can believe. In us, these possible black mornings driving out our skies. Are we still alive? I do not think it. Victims of a terrible sentence. Where the length of ours nights breathes the languor of ours souls.
Lire la suiteOne bitter promise
There is this black barrier which prevents you from seeing further behind. Tinted colors of blood sweeping the falling asleep day. Water being spread out to the feet of the firmament. Sky in scraps, clouds bowing down. Just behind this barrier blocking. Your days, your nights, that never you will not cross. Blocked by this lack of desire which you transport made dull. Each morning you remainders there. With you to say that now you will dare. to Take the first step. To flee, leave behind your trouble, to howl and quiver. While going elsewhere to seek this happiness. An end of hope far from the rancid odors. Where steps your heavy steps and mow. You have this force to split the bark. You advance warlike and proud. Flying over your sorrows, your sorrow. You will cross this wall of a nimble and sure step. There is nothing hard. To leave heavinesses and slownesses. Who feed your fears, your frights. You defer it to presently. Each time, as if it were your law. To be tired and to carry the weight. Impotence without going until the end of your hopes. Manufacturing this black barrier which prevents you from seeing further behind. However, it would be enough for you to let yourself carry. By your will, all these ideas come in you to germinate. And to plane, plane until the end of your eternity. Taking over your destiny without yielding to fate. To be unobtrusive, hidden. Carrying an imposed shame. Whereas it is enough for you to awake. To look at the sun lying down. To see the sky igniting. To let you cherish. Before being carried. Beyond this black barrier which prevents you from seeing further behind. To build one elsewhere virgin of your sorrows and your pains. That you will build step by step. By not reproducing the errors of the past. Like this idea to forget you. Being binding on you over the years. To have lost the wire of your will. This evening you will launch out; you swore it. Weigh on you fate too much. The tender, the abandonment are part of your reason. To mislead to you you will think that tomorrow. You will cross finally. This black barrier which prevents you from seeing further behind. It is only one bitter promise. It is written that you will always live behind this barrier.
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
