From A season in hell/ A. Arthur Rimbaud farewell ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ Autumn already ! - But why regret the everlasting sun , if we are committed to the discovery of the divine light - away from people who die with the seasons . Autumn . Our high in the still mists boat turns toward the port of misery, the huge city to the sky stained with fire and mud. Ah ! the stinking rags , bread soaked with rain , drunkenness, the thousand loves who crucified me! So it will never end this ghoul queen million dead souls and bodies and be judged ! I remember the skin plagued by mud and plague, full of worms and underarm hair and even bigger to the heart, stretched out among strangers without age, without feeling ... I could have died ... The evocation awful ! I hate poverty. And I dread the winter because it is the season of comfort ! - Sometimes the sky I see endless beaches covered with white nations joy. A great golden ship, above me , waved his colored pennants in the morning breeze . I created all the parties, all the triumphs , all the dramas . I tried to invent new flowers, new stars, new flesh, new languages. I thought acquire supernatural powers. Well ! I have to bury my imagination and my memories ! A beautiful glory artist and storyteller carried away ! Me! I told myself that mage or angel, exempt from all morality , I went to the ground, with a duty to seek and embrace the rough reality! Peasant ! Am I wrong? charity would she sister of death for me? Finally, I ask forgiveness for having fed on lies . And go. But not one friendly hand ! and where to draw the rescue? ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ Yes, the new time is at least very severe . For I can say that the victory is mine : the gnashing of teeth, the hissing of fire, the stinking sighs are moderate. All unclean memories fade . My last regret scamper - jealousy of beggars , bandits , friends of death, the arrears of all kinds. - Damned if I took my revenge ! It must be absolutely modern . No hymns : hold not win. Hard night ! Dried blood smokes on my face, and I have nothing behind me, that horrible bush ! ... Spiritual warfare is as brutal as the battle of men, but the vision of justice is the pleasure of God. However, this is the day before. Receive all the influx of vigor and real tenderness. And at dawn, armed with a burning patience , we shall enter the splendid cities . What I was talking about a friendly hand ! A great advantage is that I can laugh at old false loves, and hit shame these deceitful couples , - I saw the hell of women out there - and it will be open to me to possess the truth in a soul and body .
Posted on: Thu, 26 Sep 2013 23:51:53 +0000
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