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Article Communautés Concours Essai Multimédia Personnelles Poèmes Presse Prose _QUOTE Scénario Spécial | ||||||
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2009-06-24 | [Ce texte devrait être lu en english] |
when the moon is rising
like in the gothic novels i sneak up over the wall of the lost paradise barefoot i step on the green grass of the truth my blood merges with the dew of the resurrection hypochondriac ghosts are begging i throw them sawdust of temptations i take off my words and set them up as a scarecrow for angels in the field of salvation i wander about through underground corridors in a hand with an eye forever open an axe of ice in the other i cut off the roots of the tree with too many branches on my return i’m carrying up the flesh in the same way a jesus on drugs is carrying up his cross to the golgotha of immortality in the morning i wake up crucified on the bed sheet god what a fountain is hiding in the field of my solitude
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