The songs of the angels

The songs of the angels extended over the first morning from the world. Flexible like the flight of a dove, they slipped on the ground, wrapped it.Powerful, strong, they covered the noise of the battle which began between the night and the day. The glares of this fight went up to us. We were stuck one against the other. We had if fear. The flashes of their combat burst darkness. The mountains spouted out ground. The volcanos spit their lava in a foaming sea. You trembled. The vibrations of their combat crossed our body, our hearts. The songs of the angels transpierced us. They wanted to make safe us. We were frightened. Our eyes cried. Our tears had the taste of the bitterness. The disappearance of this night in which we lived since so a long time. The combat stopped with the victory of the day over the night, the arrival of the first morning of the world. It was white, milky. Lazy, it was stretched in long cottony clouds. There were the ground and the trees. Wind and cold. White ground of white frost. Slowly, the sun bored behind the veil of clouds. Our eyes left darkness. The light did increasingly sharp, us lighting.  Its glare equipped our bodies, heating them. Surprising, the feeling was pleasant, comforting. For the first time, I saw your face. Front, you were not that a shade which my fingers skimmed, that my eyes did not see. We were well thus. The song of the angels modified so many things. Today, one sees oneself. You are so beautiful. One touches oneself if little now. We look beyond the hills and of the wood of this new thirst for knowing. Front, in the black, we required for if few things. Our hunger became insatiable. Our interminable quarrels. Our choices, our glances so different. One separates little by little each morning a little more. There remain to us still these last moments of night when one remembers that we were shades stuck one to the other.