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Article Communautés Concours Essai Multimédia Personnelles Poèmes Presse Prose _QUOTE Scénario Spécial | ||||||
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agonia ![]()
■ Petite valse gitane ![]()
Romanian Spell-Checker ![]() Contact |
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| [Ce texte devrait être lu en english]
a woman is caressing the scaffold laughing
here, she says to her servants, here i shall rest my wrists and my chin over here and in between there shall be nothing but the lump in my throat I have a little neck which shan't bleed fear nor blood then she pulled off her pearls which bounced around shining like the droplets of rain amongst the ravens gathering at her feet she reaped off her dress stitched in gold and nursed the tired arm of the executioner who was sharpening his blade sobbing she threw her crown to the crowds their screams made her laugh yet again dozens of women were now unplaiting her hair which smelled of His hands still they were washing her face with the water He brought from the well whispering the words from His book caressing the lips oozing down a breast and as the sun was melting the chain in her ankle she was wondering of the beauty of the sky above and bellow and the corner of her left eye nested in the hand that was raising rightfully and surely above her head in clothes of hay she then raised above the crowds and said: in heresy the power of love kneels and prays in heresy the power of love kneels and repeats: "Jesus, save Mylord, my goodliest and gentlest Master of all times Jesus, save Mylord my goodliest and gentlest Master of all times Jesus, tell Mylord my goodliest and gentlest Master of all times that I .... ..." * -Baby! -Mylord? -Wake up! You're dreaming. ♥
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