Surrealist poet bathed in moonlight
at the funeral of love .
Tightrope walker on a stormy road ,
where are the lyrics to the lost ballad ?
The time of happiness
is nothing more than a digital echo
as a ghostly plucked parrot chirps...
Night owl in search of an inspired star
that will lead me astray ...
Fool, playing piano on top of a cloud,
but the tears blurred the sheet music...
I am just an eccentric contralto .
Sometimes, libertine painter ,
unveiling mystery of the submissive muse .
Gentle prowler .
Or maybe ,just plain old Pierrot lunaire
lost on the cusp of rain ,
his tears stained farewell letter in hand .
Matamor,you charmed the capricious Columbine...
Must I go and gather my words
from the depths of bitter abysses ,
for fear of being sincere with them ?
September harbinger heralding the harvest ,
already a few gray strands in my golden crown !
My lord , the door of times creaks open...
On the threshold ,no one remembers the magic spell
for eternal youth ...
My friend Harlequin, do you have any ink
I could borrow ,so I can keep my logbook ?
and the spice of a burning body
when I could finally drop anchor ?
Don\'t mock the poor penpusher in pain !
Then,I would recognize myself in that poet
whose shadow frightens me ...