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by Benoît

 I am of Those


There is few that still can wander aimlessly in the streets, making up their faces into a mask of airily melancholy. There is few whose footsteps still resonate at night on the worn paving stones, prisonners of their oniric lives, waking up their world to their cold eyes. There is few to cry secretly on an old stone, still vibrating of the arrival of some ancient king.

So, if you, who think to dream wide awake, meets one of them by a misty day or a moonless night, take care not to accost him. Try to forget the gleam in his eyes ; As he could by the weight of one of his tears, carry you along in a sadness that there is few to bear. May you not smile at my advice as I am one of them.

3rd and last version.
March 1999.