Bright blisses

Slow linger between our kisses The tip of your tongue is drawing An exquisite wild wild dreaming We fill our souls with bright blisses Your both hands are a slow burn Alive, real and magnificent You play me like an instrument With this melody I want to learn Silky soft smooth ultra caress Skins blurring our human boundaries Whirling hearts cracking up what is Left from our mind, our consciousness

The soft hotel

In a soft hotel With bending walls My mood is about to swing The lights are low Bare feet on the floor Of the waving corridor Strange soft hotel Where no one ever dies But souls disappear Smudged carpeted floors Flickering neon lights TV screens puking fake ideals Everyone is screaming Is screaming for help or for love No one ever knows I am still walking in the waving corridor Where souls get lost And hearts got beaten Mellow mornings After sex cigarettes Forgotten climaxes in dodgy rooms We are at the end of an era The soft hotel open all night Selling nightmares and dark hopes To anyone booking a room Unsteady vacancy sign Pale faces coming in The gateway is one-way only Liquid, soft and scary Clients come and go And the soft gigantic clock High so high in the lobby Is ticking our time left In a soft hotel With bending walls My soul is crying For I am the butler Photo by Mathis Jrdl on Unsplash
C'est par la technique, et donc par l'entraînement, que le geste artistique s'affirme et se libère.

Dried sunflowers

Wild torments Dried sunflowers Clockworks yellow In a spit of the sun Many years past Under the stars scattered Led us to the infinite night As soft as blue Gigantic doorbell Waking up everyone Will bring us nothing but fear And poison our wildest dreams

De l'âme, de François Cheng (extrait)

"Ne voyons-nous pas que dès l'origine le désir de vie s'accompagne du désir de beau, prime signal de sens et de valeur ? Il y a l'âme du monde qui aspire à la beauté, et il y a l'âme humaine qui y répond, par la création artistique à multiple facettes, par la beauté intérieure propre à une âme aimante et aimantante - beauté du regard, du geste, de la donation, qui porte le beau nom de sainteté " in De l'âme, de François Cheng

I am never on my own

Whatever the place Whatever the time I am never on my own With all the feathers With all the stones That I carry with me Relentlessly Whatever the moon Whatever the blue I never dream alone With all the ghosts Past and future Who inhabit my nights Joysadfully I am the world I am my world Puzzled and colourful Crazy and bright Joyful and obscured By egos and angers Worst than the worst of storms I am the world I am my world Because I stepped in With hopes and desires That still shape my journey Photo by Max Saeling on Unsplash

A fire was born

Out of the cold A fire was born Awakened Unblind Out of nothingness Immortal flames Mastered pasts Mastered futures Out of the gods Reunited And humbled A deathless fire rose Out of the dark A blinding fire Gave birth to A unique treasure