.

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

.

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?

.

There are words that are said in the silence of the night

Silent words, fire words,

Words that would ashen any man’s heart,

Words that would crumble an Empire

If uttered before the great tenebra,

Though when all souls have passed the pale threshold

Of the kingdom of the Moon

Along the lifeless lake, in the quiet hour,

When battles are silenced and men’s hearts lay still,

When the soft brushing of a drop against skin

Resonates up to the highest heavens and down to the deepest hells,

In those moments of emptiness

As quiet as they are lone,

There are words,

Ancient words, iron words,

Words such as the earth has never born before,

Word before dawn, before clay, before dust,

Beware of those words

For they forget and they betray

And may never repair that there which has been torn,

Words of madness, words of wisdom,

Strange and eternal, lies though never dead.

.

We are more than we are, we are one.

.

Not quite a harsh pain this firework of the chest,

Although the myriad of colour cannot be seen

The melody echoes throughout the silent space.

Rows upon rows of madness-in-a-box

Where void fills void during the long twilight,

Industrial and forgettable instantaneity –

Fingers upon a chalkboard and bleeding nails.

Somewhere, somewhen, an Asphodelian wails

But it does not move the heart of such a deity;

Look! there comes the rest in a queer half-flight,

Eyes aflame or stolen by the wicked Nox,

There is this eerie gash in their romantic pace

As they seek but may never truly convene;

Ruby and silver and gold weigh nothing to those who rest.

.

Sigrid – High Five

.

To the problem thereof

Listen to this wise voice:

One day Time will be back

Once again clouds will cry,

And surely will echo

The drum within your hands,

A thousand and one bands

Playing the Young White Doe,

Even the deserts dry

Will regain what they lack,

The Future has no choice

For it is ground to Love.

.

No prince, no princess, just a dragon and its gold.

.

And when there is so much to be done

About all that there is, about nothing,

Can we truly believe everything

Our spirits murmur once they are gone?

Oh when there is so little to do

For all we make, we destroy, we undo,

Can this beautiful world truly be changed

By a family that has long been estranged?

Is it worth it to keep on fighting this fight?,

Asks the wanderer with a sad smile;

He who has finally set foot home feels in exile

For everything has changed with insight…

.

We are the children.