Poem at low tide

It's a poem at the daybreak 

who comes to die in the arms

of a low tide that dares not...

Mist in the clear waves 

of our sorrows .

Reflection in the mirror 

of our pains .

Half-tone watercolors 

which leaves the faded desires

of summer vanities ...

It's an angry poem

that refuses to say goodbye 

and carries away this flight 

of mourning birds 

who go on pilgrimage 

to where passions shipwrecked

in the lie of space time 

and the cold fire 

of the chimera's  gaze ...

 As this long-forgotten poet said :

'' There is no happy love ...''

Just a date with a bouquet of regrets

and distracted oaths .

Wounded souls watching ecstasy pass by.

This scatterbrain has already forgotten ...

Small papers boats sailing away 

on the gutters ...

Are words of love a farce to die for ?

Or a tragedy to laugh it better ?

 And here ,we are old .

And we even start to believe in god...

As the poet of a past century proclaimed :

'' There is no happy love ! ...''