March 31, 2011

alex chez soi

I once met a french boy named Alexandre.
I was very much in love with him,
as for him, well, he was in love with his work...
I trait which I will always admire.

This story is dedicated to him.

There was once upon a time
A house made of charcoal
And upon this same old time
The boy who made her whole

The house of witch I speak
Had no window nor door
And there are still some who wonder
How he did to get indoors

It so happens that the lad
Taken by the work
Forgot that to inhabit it
The least of doors would prove its worth
Once acknowledged the fault
He felt hard on the floor
And there he stood gazing
As if forevermore
Curious people would come
From all over the world
To admire the work of art
The house made of charcoal
Others would come
In an effort to approach
Of whom the intrigued young man
Wouldn’t even get close 
And as night softly fell
He let himself lay
Until the sun was born
Announcing a new day
And one other night
And one other day
And people left
Fading away
Until one day like any other
Announced but by a growing sound
The house shattered in to peaces
Bowing to the ground
Bond to hers as his life was,
the boy that we now know,
became, forevermore,
a ratchet of charcoal.

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