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love poetry

la noblesse de la mort encore
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
ce qui conserve
dans les halls du sommeil vous avez erré près
les poèts le disent
quand le vent fonctionne contre nous dans l'obscurité
dans la sphère
je suis allé à travers les rues
mélancolie, bleu il était
il y a une ville, builded par aucune main
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
elle boite avec stopper le pas douloureux
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire

 



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