| A Mother, A Mom in the paradise
In a morphinique coma you were. In the hollow of your ear I sang. " Flies away you Mom ". In the twilight of the souvenir. You sing in my solitude. We had some more of things to be said ourselves. Thank you for what you made for me. My soul resisted thanks to you. She Continued her round. To feel you ready of me. So that you are always there. In the twilight of the memory. You sing in my solitude. We had some more of things to be said ourselves. Strengthen our complicity. Still to love us. Then with you I communicated. Art of writing médiumnique. Automatic writing. Amplified state of consciousness. Feel your hand caressing mine. Get your sidereal message. In the ether move the souvenirs. Make your ready face of me come. Write the words which reassure. Small mother, small princess. Without you my life is only a stress. I throw you every day my S-O-S To you my poet. In the twilight of the souvenir. You sing in my solitude. We had some more of things to be said ourselves. I suffer from the pain of your absence. Regret, to have had no time. To speak to you about a young. " Who was proud to be your child ". In the twilight of the souvenir. You sing in my solitude. We had still full of things to be said ourselves. Today I understood. That your soul was welcomed. Celebration of your accomplished task. That my head draws the energy. Which steers the action of your hands. For a slam full of flames. For a successful poetry. In the ether move our souvenirs. We so had, so things to be said to us. As a beginning. I remember you. Mom. Samiel |