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by Fabrice B. Poussin




Hug the Pain


Hug tight until the bodies melt,

hearts longing, pulling to the other relentless.


Pull her closer until she no longer knows,

she once was real, and her heart becomes yours.


Hold him, with your soft embrace;

power and strength matter not if you meant it.


Smile young, old, wealthy of blood;

nothing need be lost, when you have become one.


Laugh no need to resist the convulsion;

when you lose track of feelings inside every cell.


Be that is the only task you will always have

as the worlds around care for you more than you know.


Live a duty you have no choice but fulfill,

two in one, and simply go where no one will seek you.


Love like so many others do, yet better,

for they know not that to be two in one, one you must become.



a line, (a short blue one)



Making Amends


Humble he leans upon the frame of the vast gate

in an instant of silence scarred by the power of decades

seeking energy to warm the troubled weakling.


Pulled by the awesome power of invisible forces

he hopes for a gentle illusion on the other side

between two darknesses as thick as the old prison.


All is still in an eerie hour without connection

strangers know to remain on the periphery

of this encounter no one can perceive.


He imagines a reality at the tip of a great destiny

if only a providential breeze could change everything

so he may land at the foot of the everlasting statue.


But all is quiet, as if perhaps the universe froze

and his insides burn inflated by an insatiable flame

a snapshot for the rest of his days now imprinted upon his soul.


a line, (a short blue one)



Rebuilding the Thread


Remembering the skill of the fate

I contemplate a light beyond the stars

begging for the miracle of a mysterious power.


It has been too long since I began roaming the seas

unanchored ship in the midst of endless storms

floating above perilous abysses of a thick blackness.


I can still catch a glimpse of the fibers

ripped by a heartless jolt at an instant of joy

they seem alive with an instinct to rejoin.


Somewhere on the other side of these quick sands

the severed half remains in desperate wait

decaying on the stone of a deserted harbor.


I face aft as I aim to discover a brighter form

a hand begging for a touch however brief

warm with the desire to reconnect forevermore.



a line, (a short blue one)



The Hearse


He thought would be a fine pleasantry

a little snub at the great reaper

to tour the infamous valley with a hearse.


On a steaming august morn’ he took to the road

in his swallow tail armor

ready to collect the first harvest of dark humored visitors.


Chopin teased the walls of the black velvety walls

while wise driver he took to the next curve

the painted hills sides reflected in his ray bans


The dashboard attempted to shy away from the rising star

melting to the sides covering the gauges

one reading 119 degrees in the shade.


A polar breeze came pouring in from the ground

lanky he shivered within the dying fibers

braving the emerging mirage temple pilot he smiled.


There was no doubt of a fortune to be made

for the man who bought the old limousine

safe for the melting asphalt beyond the horizons.


It was still early for the mercury to boil

yet too late for the gesture to reverse course

in this forgotten land he did not expect a deep crevasse.


Already packaged for the eternal journey

the shroud securely tied around his clownish soul

he plunged into eternity, alone and not quite laughing.




a line, (a short blue one)



Walking to Eternity


Walking in silence on the path to destiny

might seem far when it stretches to eternity.


The road is lined with ancestral firs

their memories plunge into times immemorial

providing a shelter for the wary wanderer

on a day of blistering storms of hail and snow.


Traveling with a bag of regrets for only luggage

stumbling upon harmless blades of grass

the observer will wonder whether there is life

in this echoing shell, carcass of lost fancies.


It seems the tunnel shrinks around the futile soul

his face running with tears of rain, pearls of chagrin

lips bluish like ice in the sun quiver in agony

something pushes this unlikely saunterer.


Aimless he continues on the inscribed journey

doctorless patient of an incurable illness

it is useless to sigh, pointless to preserve a dream

the sentence of life in exile has been declared.


Walking in silence on the path to destiny

might seem far when it stretches to eternity.



a line, (a blue one)


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