It’s like a tree in the wind

.

I’m losing all my leaves

They’re falling each their own

One at a time, all together

I’m losing all my leaves

Like a tree in the wind

Like a branch in the rain

As autumn falls on me

I’m losing all my leaves

And my roots have grown deep

So deep I cannot see

Where they are leading me

I’m losing all my leaves

To the wind and the rain

To the scrolling of time

To the scratching of this itch

I’m losing all my leaves

And the birds are still singing

And the world is still turning

Under a sky of blues

I’m losing all my leaves

In the bloom of flowers

In this last dance of bees

By the small pond of old

Where I used to fish with them

I’m losing all my leaves

Floating away in the night

I’m losing all my leaves

Try as hard as I might

My fingers are stiff

As my skin after bark

I’m losing all my leaves

And no spring awaits me

Around the bend of the river

Let them carry away

I’m losing all my leaves

I’m losing all my leaves

I’m losing all my leaves

As I once thought they would stay

.


A father is a father as a father may be.

By the end of summer I shall be gone

.

By the end of Summer I shall be gone

Long overdue and wildly planned

In seconds and moments out of bound

Out of mind, out of all norms and drawn lines

Out of the path that has been most taken

By the end of Summer I shall be gone

Towhere nobody does truly know

In matter or corporeal, or in the ether of the mind,

or perhaps in a new form long thought forgotten

I shall be gone nonetheless and that shall be it

No more go-backs, no more waitings,

Not a single tick more to expect

Only the thrill of the run, the ache in the lungs

the fire burning in each and every limbs

And perhaps, just perhaps, a sliver of hope

For a plan drawn in the sand at searise.

Winter and Spring and Summer and Autumn

And Winter and Spring have come and gone

and will come and go again

But no time is like the future present in the face of the past

I have sworn and I shall upkeep my oath

By the end of Summer I shall be gone

Styx and stowns may brake my boons

But wards may never kill me

Three days later I shall rise and

Walk upon the Earth twice lived

Or perhaps I shall sleep evermore

And drift asea, abed, aboard a new ship

A ship of old remade too many times

Love is not for me, life is not for me,

I am not for me, only desire

And perhaps in such excess resides the truth of what I seek

Perhaps in greed resides my wisdom

Perhaps in sloth resides my legacy

Perhaps in lust resides my peace

I know them well these sins

I know them well and yet I don’t

They are etched into my heart

But forgotten at a glance, each beat further and further,

Until my mind’s eye witnesses my Death once again,

I know them well and they know me,

Yet we are friends, together we lie

I know them well when they are mine

I know them well when they are not

Yet they are strangers on the porch,

Not invited across the threshold

Hospitality forgotten, family forgotten, friends forgotten

They are mine and I am theirs, yet who?

I shall be gone by summer’s end

One way or another

Or another.

.


and who forgets the forgotten?

don’t

.

i see you as i see me

i see you as you see me

you see me as i see you

but do you see you as i see you

how can you go and say that at a wedding after so long

how can you go and reply that at your wedding after so long

i’ve waited so long for that

i’ve waited so long for that

i’ve waited so long for that

well maybe you should have done something

let the word rip out your cage

let the bird drip out your rage

maybe you have waited so long for that

but maybe you should have taken the slap

and let your glasses askew

please don’t marry mike

i swear to god upon his feet

and in the palace of his heart

as bear as the words that claw my throat

i will die upon this spike

i will die until we meet

if you keep only playing the part

and die again once this is wrote

and here’s the angel of death who watches

as the puppets of their lord’s will

dance the dance to end all dances

the one that myriad repeats has ended time itself

and they cannot quite feel their wings

nor the gentle gale that should flutter

because there’s a devil that is dancing

heavy and drunk on their shoulder

there is this hole you’ve been digging

large and deep and full of blood

but there’s this hole you’ve been digging

which i have turned into a bore

i climbed the steps down one by one

each warmer, colder, painfully far

and you lent me one of your spades

to shovel at the fleeting warmth

there is anger in my mouth

and the chorus echoes it well

in all its all knowing glory

the one that comes with such worry

but they too have been silent long

the voices of the lord as impenetrable

as the veil before your eyes

on this day

i know i have no right, i have no claim

you know you have no fight, you’ve been so lame

we know all that and know it well

it’s engraved on the beating flesh

that synchronized when our eyes met

yet couldn’t fucking beat on time

always quiet or always late

we know it all, we know it well

yet i implore upon theses steps

let me reveal what is hidden

in all its glory, in all its wrath

i am the sinner you the heathen

call you benoist call me macgrath

.


the fire blazing in my veins is freezing cold


(so i read this and simply almost broke my computer in half in frustration; i know I’m a sucker for pining but come on…)

i needed the catharsis

Mourir demain

.

Au détour d’une rue

Il y a une vie peut-être

J’ai croisé une ville,

J’ai rencontré la pluie;

Si elle n’était pas mienne

Elle coulait sur mon âme,

Je l’ai vue ruisseler

Sur tant de boutons

Et fleurir les espoirs

De milliers de cœurs;

Ceux qui l’ont fait tomber

Se rient de mes ébats

Avec maux et merveilles,

Ils m’ont offert le monde

Et n’ont rien demandé

Mais la contrepartie

S’est trouvée toute donnée :

Une éternité de moments

Où font écho les chœurs

Et filent entre mes doigts

Comme l’eau vive.

Il est temps de partir

Et de mourir un peu

Ce soir car vient demain,

Mais le sourire aux lèvres,

Les yeux dans les nuages,

Car je vous ai aimé

Bande de beaux humains.

.


parfois un peu cliché, pas toujours totalement satisfaisant, mais bordel qu’est-ce que c’était bien !

There Is A Sun At The Gates

.

there is a sun at the gates

a blazing star

waiting to be let in

withering the wood, weathering it too

until the door stands no more

and the gates are open

there is a sun at the gates

raining fire over the fields

shining over the stone

melting it

into seas of grey and black

white and yellow and gold

and it shines silent, patient

eons in the making

eons before it fades

it has waited and shall wait again

and one day perhaps

when the gates open or stand no more

after being rebuilt time and time again

one day, perhaps

eventually

the sun will shine on you too

there is a sun at the gates

small yet immensely vast

bigger than anything

burning hot, coiling

a warmth against itself, within itself

and yet

it burn without burning

it hurts without hurting

and the gate knows it cannot hold it

for beyond the wood,

beyond the stone,

beyond the steel that holds it together

beyond all that

the sun

the sun waits and lies

it lies dormant and awake

it lies with night, with words

and it needs not to rise to rouse itself from its slumber

for what can ever sleep may never die

there is a sun at the gates

and as the bells toll to announce its arrival

the king knows

a sun meeting another

a star burning another star

indomitable power in front of indomitable power

in the face of the man from god

from one god to another

what holds and what doesn’t

that may very well be the question

but the gate knows

in all of the things

that may or may not

it is not destined to hold

for it is to be opened

there is a sun at the gates

and the gates are patient

yet the sun is patienter still

what lies beyond

what remains within

what exists in between

there are no edges

no frontiers

only light

and perhaps, in time,

one can learn to look at it

to watch it, to admire it,

without burning

.


voiced in the twilight of sleep, writen at dawn

Soleil couchant

.

Tu es faite de feu et de poussière d’étoile,

Tu es faite d’émeraude et d’ichor,

Le monde est ton pinceau et tu en es la toile,

Chaque minute est ta scène, chaque endroit ton décor;

Et je suis spectateur de cette symphonie

Qui joue de mon battant et de mes insomnies.

Derrière le projecteur je trace les ombres chinoises,

Saccadées, indistinctes, trépidantes et sournoises.

Par chance quelque fois, ou par jeu du destin,

J’aperçois les fils qui tirent les ficelles

De l’ode captivante que tu danses pour les cieux.

Tu es le lion et la vie est ton festin,

Mais parfois tu trébuches, tu chancelles

Sous le poids de ce cadeau des dieux,

Et dans le miroir où chacun y perd un peu de soi,

Du doigt les formes touchant,

Doucement tu souffles une vieille oraison.

Parfois, parfois, c’est toi qui m’aperçoit,

Et alors ta crinière de soleil couchant

Coule sur ma peau comme le jour sur l’horizon.

.


Pour insertion.

c’est comme si c’était toi

.

treize heures cinquante cinq

un point quatre kilo octets seconde

je le vois passer à toute berzingue

et je ne peux le rattraper, le monde;

j’ai encore oublié d’éteindre la bluetooth,

la voilà qui dévore toutes mes pensées,

quarante pourcent de batterie

et je sens jaillir cet espoir insensé:

malgré les tremblements et les secousses

peut-être les larmes seront de la partie?

voilà que je ne fais plus vraiment de sens

et que mes mots ne sont guère très jolis

mais je ne peux pas quand j’y pense

assise sur le rebord de la folie,

et dans le silence de mon royaume

encore si bruyant à mes oreilles

quoi que je dise ou je prétende

j’entends cette voix qui me demande

est-ce que chez vous ça sera pareil

dans vos tours d’argent et de chrome?

est-ce que vous sentez la force fragile

qu’il y a derrière ces mots ?

le colosse aux pieds d’argiles

qui apporte ce court et simple mémo?

*

je l’ai vue en me levant

au soleil pâle du matin

elle se tenait là devant

dans une robe de satin,

et puis dans un éclair de givre

qui coulait sur les pétales

j’ai presque oublié de vivre

loin de mon village natal.

.


j’ai l’impression de ne pas comprendre

je sais nager pourtant je coule

Slightly more, slightly less

.

I have something I do not have.

Maybe it was lost in the waters

The depth of which are still unknown;

I do feel something slightly more than a halve

Not that in this late fog it truly matters.

Perhaps in the forest I have grown

Deep within and inside out, around the edge

I stand, staring into the folly of the age;

Perhaps yet in the wind, scattered in many a pledge

Made to the new and the old, the easy and the sage.

Seeking for I tread this night, perhaps sleep shall whisper

Yet I search for a stronger voice,

One that comes and goes whether I care to make my choice

Or keep staring at the flame until blister.

That is not dead which can eternal lie

Yet is one alive if there is none to try?

What questions come when I be seeking for their sisters!

What grand orchestra plays as my Muses remain silent!

They listen when not speak and not speak when I listen;

To the skeptics of my follishness I ask where is the proof

That that which I am lacking

I even had before?

What would be but a spoof

Which I have been tacking

To the fro and the fore.

I do not have something I have,

Is whether it is found what matters?

Having stepped by so many a milestone

I am, on the whole, slightly more than a halve.

.


Halve I what I have? And have I what I halve?

The sweet scent of summer fading

.

Running is dying.

There is no middleground, there is no workaround,

There is only one lane circling this arena,

No greater battleground to ever run around,

No better master; oh gentle regina…

To love is to suffer.

Whether, slings and arrows, and a sea of troubles,

In the heart of the apocalypse, last man left standing,

It has no true reason yet it may never lie

Even in the beyond where everybody sleeps;

Memories are our voice.

My name is to be known from under the rubbles

Once else has closed the door and gone for the landing

Only to those ears shall descend to imply

Our smile and our tears lost in those bounds ans leaps.

The wind of change is warm.

What mystery remains to capture in thunder?

All may have been written and torn from these lone eyes

Yet, what is this ocean that within may still rise?

Maybe such in a song someone shall remember.

.


In all that can be said and surely in all that is, there be so little of what could.

Visitation

.

I know I must away for the sun has long set behind the hills,

However this night is one of those that nevermind my own

Keep shining beacons and blowing wind in my sails.

I feel above it all, up high into the heavens, light on my wings

Hovering at the top of a world of new and interesting,

Wherefore am I bound to today, I cannot say without a smile

Of merry curiosity even when in my heart of hearts,

In the waves of my soul, I know I must retire and rest

This weary body of mine. I bid you farewell my friend

Of today, enemy of tomorrow, I shall see you later

And perhaps we shall converse some more of the same

When I am better and whole again? Yes, whole again.

How else do you figure that I could soar so high up?

My wings are large but feeble, barelly enough to glide,

And they encumber me when walking among my own,

Yet would I give them up to run within the wind often?

Only the new shall say, the old is too hesitant to dare

He would regret too much those furtive, passing joys

Of wonderous colour and vivid tastes. Now, now, don’t fret,

This aged one shall go to bed, my dear, I’ll see you in the morn

I can promise you that – ah… the night may be getting older

But never so as me, and the day shall be young, and too I shall be free.

Sleep tight, dream well, and above all, come again to see me.

.


Ashley Eriksson – Island Song (Remix)