L’appel du vide

A dull, throbbing pain,

That binds me to consciousness,

How constraining the sky seems,

To those who long to walk above it,

Writhing below,

In the gore lands,

The clouds will burst when the day ends,

Bringing with them the bitter victory,

The joyous downfall,

But still, the wind wanders,

Seeking the hands that beckon it,

The eyes that seek it,

The lips that plead for it,

Only the silent may hear,

The words that it offers,

As it passes them by,

Uncaring of the words they may hear,

But never pass on,

All things will wither,

In the hands of those that grope,

Pleading for their memory to be unbroken,

Slithering through the hinterland,

Beyond the rising wind,

Where the night sky gapes,

A window, through which the stars may watch us,

Even as we stand,

And they cannot understand,

Why we long to touch them,

Yet they cry for us,

As we crawl, not yet standing,

But daring to try,

They send us tears of starlight,

To guide us,

Their gift flits between our fingers,

But the light, we can never grasp,

Only this they see,

And with us, they despair,

And shed more tears of starlight,

So that we may bend to the storm,

Reaching for us through the void





L’appel du vide