Poem: The night.
The night is a jar of black ink
Silent, without forgetfulness, it covers
With its double-faced cloak the riches of the Louvre
The syrupy and smoky scents of the spiritual censer
That wafts through the sleeping air dreams and hopes
That protects from mischievous spirits the temptation of mad kings
Of the outlandish impulses that play out during the day
And that at night have no consequences
For everyone sleeps and does not care.
I love the night for its calm and its mysteries
If at dawn nothing remains, they will have lived ephemerally
If the tranquility of the Rue de Rivoli, in the center of Paris
Is only an illusion for a few hours after midnight
It is still a present that the awakening of the stars gives
It is still a glimmer on our souls that forgives.
I appreciate the night that makes us insubordinate
We can draw from it moments until insomnia
It becomes cruel when the next day approaches
When we feel that Phaethon’s chariot passes through the porch
Of the trumpet fanfare of the alarm in reality
In the reality of problems that have a voice like a rattle.
I love the night because in its arms
I see it She, whom I also knew during the day
When she was my love
And we shared the beyond of the daytime.
Another poems: L et J Love Poetry: Ups and downs♥️ L et J Love Poetry: We had found each other ♥️ L et J Love Poetry: The tears of the heart.♥️ L et J Love Poetry: I woke up thinking of you♥️ Poetry about Paris: Melancholic grayness.
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