English Version
gothique et romantique

A thing of you

Publié le 20 Fév 2015

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A thing of you. Trailing on grass. Floating in the air. Soft like our verbs. Cherishing the stone. Insane, stronger than the sea. Blue eyes. Our pious dreams. In hell or in the skies. An end of you. Trails in me.  Here and there. The flames of candles Undulate. Two by two. Linked. Always joined together. Against the wind. Rain. All the time. It is thus. Our madness. Fleeing towards the infinite one. Carrying our petrol. At the end of incense sticks. A zest of smoke. An evaporated remainder. Filled with wonder eyes. To see them to fly away. Where one would wish to project oneself. I can only hope. Expecting you, me. Finding me, you. This spellbinding dream. Beats in me. Like a thing of you. Trailing on grass. Floating in the air.  Like a proverb. Fact of the mysteries. Nobody listens to the air. Older than the ground. Our joined together hands. Whole nights. Under the light of candles. There remains to me a thing of you. The desire, faith. That these memories do not die. Giving us this power there. To re-examine us. Later, at the end one evening. Where the shades, their dark moods will die out. The cursed ball. A time which took too much time. To reanimate our years flee. On the slow rhythm of unmatched agreements. While having heard the echo of chaos. An aggression which misuses. Anesthetic what one refuses. The lapse of memory. And, that it is thus. There is in me. A thing of you. A dust to resist. Will that you would be proud. Fighting against this weakness which lowers. Facility to forget you.  I do not want to betray you. I cannot hide. Our memories of this past which should not die. It remains me if little. An invaluable good. A thing of you. Indefinite. A wire of nostalgia. Falling from stars. On which my melancholy slips.

le sang de la nuit, la naissance de l'ange, decouvrez le dernier roman de steffan urell

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