The Cursed Poet

The unfortunate one who goes away like that every night
In a thousand loneliness collect the life which escapes him
Is only this lonely poet who drinks strong liquors
To bury, at the bottom of his soul, his lost youth.
Now and then, He sleeps and gets carried away by the night.
He sinks into infinite tranquility... An eternal oblivion !
To taste sometimes dreams, sometimes nightmares...
For him, sleep is to distract oneself from the universe
And the drunkenness is to heal yourself from his Birth
And to go beyond the tortuous paths of its existence
Far from everything, to explore, alone, nothingness.

When for the poet embellished with an opiate dream
And guided by an astral ray in the middle of the night,
"To be born" is to cross the limits of chaos !
"To live" is to go slowly towards death;
"Aging" is a disease that can never be cured !
Melancholy remains a deep and monotonous sadness,
He drinks his salutary poison... His divine beverage !
Who alone seems to scare away the specter of darkness.
On the way to his last home: The tomb !
He sings the funeral cantilena of his lost life
And goes away carrying in him the regret of being born.