The heat of your hand
You wanted that I come with you to admire the cathedral, his turns, this sky which surrounds its arrows. You told me that there was an environment, “a heart”. I listened to you of a discrete ear, without really paying attention to your statement. You annoyed me but I did not say it. You insisted wearying me, exasperating me. However, you pushed me outside. You drew me, involved, taking to me the hand for the first time. I liked. I did not say myself it. By decency, out of fear of breaking the magic of this moment? We arrived on the place. I raised the head, considering the twin towers, sisters identical to the parents without imagination. I kept the heat of your hand in mine. That held me more with heart. I told you that I liked the vision of this cathedral whereas I thought only of you. You told me that I lied, that I had come only to please to you. Disappointed, you released me the hand. You took it again never again.
Lire la suiteLa chaleur de ta main
Tu voulais que je vienne avec toi admirer la cathédrale, ses tours, ce ciel qui entoure ses flèches. Tu me disais qu’il y avait une ambiance, « une âme ». Je t’écoutais d’une oreille discrète, sans vraiment porter attention à tes dires. Tu m’ennuyais mais je ne le disais pas. Tu insistais me lassant, m’exaspérant. Pourtant, tu me poussas dehors. Tu m’as tiré, entraîné, me prenant la main pour la première fois. J’ai aimé. Je ne te l’ai pas dit. Par pudeur, par peur de casser la magie de ce moment ? Nous sommes arrivés sur la place. J’ai levé la tête, vu les tours jumelles, sœurs identiques aux parents sans imagination. Je gardai la chaleur de ta main dans la mienne. Cela me tenait le plus à cœur. Je t’ai dit que j’aimais la vision de cette cathédrale alors que je ne pensais qu’à toi. Tu m’as dit que je mentais, que je n’étais venu que pour te faire plaisir. Déçue, tu m’as lâché la main. Tu ne l’as plus jamais reprise.
Lire la suiteThe marvellous gleam
One hour ago particular where the sun passes through the stained glasses projecting on the ground of the cathedral a luminous spot. It lengthens on the ground, on the chairs, the stalls of the monks, extending his body, its arms in a white gleam. It remains little. A cloud, the shade of a pillar often come to extinguish it. Each day, it returns unrelentingly.
Lire la suiteTears of rain
The sky was of gold. Magic, splendid beautiful. In the distance, black clouds accumulated. They grew bigger, being stretched around the cathedral, coming to choke the gold nuggets. The pressure went up little by little. The gold nuggets sought to flee. They struggled this so particular bright light of the last glare of the day. But the surrounding of the black clouds intensified unrelentingly. The anguish was done throbbing. I was impotent spectator in front of this announced death. Stupidly, I tightened the hand of an involuntary gesture. Why did I do it? I do not know anything of it. My finger touched the sky, bursting the gold bubble which had been formed. Then this continuous luminous flood spouted out coming to cover the cathedral. In the sky, the clouds were gone from there crying of rain
Lire la suiteWhen you were the colossus…
What did it arrive at your legendary force, your disproportionate power, you it colossus of power and force? I remember these moments, where raising the rocks of your projecting muscles, you forced admiration. Your valiancy, your courage were legendary. You did not have limits. Ultimate stage of the perfection, you were an example. You were so much of things. You were especially the colossus. This simple word imposed the respect. There was only you able to carry this qualifier. It represented you. He was you. But, today, that did you become? With your bandaged eyes, your lowered nape of the neck, your crushed muscles, you are nothing any more but the statue of your glorious last. What a shame! What a waste! Who suited to subject thus? I do not dare to imagine it, you it servile and cheap prone free spirit become. Would you have lost the word? It seems it. Moreover nobody wants to hear your whispered explanations, your badly assumed excuses. One cannot see this image which disturbs. One wants to remember your glorious last where you did not lower the head, where you advanced the head high, ready to raise so much of challenges. These days are yesterday when you walked heavily of the weight of your perfect muscles and that you were called the colossus…
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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
