"We won't go any further" the captain tells you.
Too many obsticles today to reach the horizon
Exhausted whales are moaning on the strand
Their blood covers mouths like as many hooks
Like as many hills blocking out the horizon
of crests insensitive to the plains' adagio
"I'm really sorry" the captain tells you
And you feel he talks true and he has a good heart
Since then, the mouth ruby-red, a woman with a harpoon
Who enters inside your walls and bleeds the whales
makes you for months on disdain the horizon
and when you meet him, look down on the captain.
When you go home, you tell yourself you feel fine
The lie is everywhere infiltrated in your veins
so much you like tasting the blood of the whale
that is brimming over the lips of the woman with an harpoon
But one day on your sleeve pulls the captain
Eyes protruding, he tells you: "let's leave".
It's time to get out of the queens' sleep.
Because noone awaits you as much as the horizon.
It's Lop Nur that is hoping for you, The Inlandsis that is calling for you
The Sierra Nevada that is shouting your name at night
And it's the Big Blue that enhances the sky
Each of them asking for you and offering you the horizon
But that one escapes you, stopped in its momentum
through aggressive tops, deep valleys
stone hearted cities with extravagant shapes
See, the beard is growing on you and your pace is slowing down
And you hear afar the moans of the whales
which before ending on the strand have probably
known this horizon about which only the captain
still hopes for both of you that you cross its path
But one day about the silence raising in the vicinity
As your eyes come unstuck, you know that you have been left out
Alone with your old dream which shadow is a vulture
that under your rags feels the flesh drying up
And as in slow circles, he comes to engage you
the scenery flattens, the curves come apart
Everything frees itself, yes, no doubt weary of waiting for you
it's it coming toward you; it is there: the horizon
Monday, October 1, 2012
Dominique A - The Horizon
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