Common Dawns

Awakening is a workshop left in disarray by the winds of sleep
There I look for tools that can be useful to me
There are, at the end of the night, parts of my life to consolidate
It is covered by the mists of what has been without having existed
The hours crossed by the first steps are timorous
 At the new day
 I do not understand
 I do not understand
 I need to store, classify,  label a little
 What emerges from the night
 Every morning opens on the ancient chaos
 My thoughts make their path through the damages
 I went to bed believing they were at last sinked in the anecdote
 My thoughts hold my finger, it designates me

They lead me nowhere
 They allow me, out of tolerance, to stay there
 I learn, each morning I learn
The price of not having to know at any price

September  2015