agonia francais v3 |
Agonia.Net | Règles | Mission | Contact | Inscris-toi | ||||
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
||
![]() |
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() | |||||
Article Communautés Concours Essai Multimédia Personnelles Poèmes Presse Prose _QUOTE Scénario Spécial | ||||||
![]() |
|
|||||
![]() |
![]()
agonia ![]()
■ Petite fougère ![]()
Romanian Spell-Checker ![]() Contact |
- - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2025-03-04 | [Ce texte devrait être lu en english] |
The day is almost gone.
with me around, gazing. The tree standing the cold and dropping temperatures with resilience. For years now, alone on a green patch of defiance. On its side, walls sheltering itinerant souls, visited by either wild dreams or citizens of the new world. Cars, drifting away from motion, into motionless puffing, like wrinkle-embroidered Cuban caballeros, riding their seductive cigars. Behind these large windows, life swarming death every speck of the day. I cannot escape it, I can only hope that one day, brave enough and as resilient as this tree, I will be able to stand alone in front of the wide wind owing ocean and witness my very soul drifting away into the borderless blue of God‘s love
|
||||||||
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
|||
![]() | |||||||||
![]() |
La maison de la litérature | ![]() | |||||||
![]() |
La reproduction de tout text appartenant au portal sans notre permission est strictement interdite.
Copyright 1999-2003. Agonia.Net
E-mail | Politique de publication et confidetialité