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short poem

un stylo d'acier
je suis vieux et aveugle
laissez le bel unsaid de mots
il est vrai que vous disiez que les dieux sont plus d'utilisation à vous que des fées
la lumière retirée
en tant qu'elle
ils me demandent où j'ai été
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
nous avons aucune honte?
quelle chance spiteful vole des unawares
ils dans le rassemblement d'obscurité et demandent
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
qui est le coureur dans les cieux

 



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