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son poem

les petites prières blanches
la dame, votre coeur s'est tournée vers la poussière
voici ne tomber aucune lumière
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
en tant qu'elle
l'obscurité
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
maintenant pour un combat vif et gai
splendide et terrible votre amour
la agonie d'avoir trop de puissance
pourquoi puis, la nécessité nous voient?
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
gloom

 



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