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math poem

les petites prières blanches
elle boite avec stopper le pas douloureux
je suis las d'être amer et las d'être sage
pharaoh, roi de la terre de l'Egypte
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci à moi
à l'aube, il a dit
tranquillement, avec le reverance, dans la crainte
les vérités terribles ceux-ci soient
là par la fenêtre dans la vieille maison

 



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