Poésie automatique de décembre

Voilà, ça fait un certain moment que je n’ai pas écris quoi que ce soit et ce matin, pour plusieurs raisons, je me sentais inspiré en marchant vers le travail.

Ceci en est le résultat, un peu brouillon, mais suffisamment satisfaisant pour que je le publie ici. Désolé, c’est en anglais, l’inspiration venant ainsi ce matin. Et si vous avez une idée de titre, ne vous gênez surtout pas.

The story goes like this.
There is a man, not sick nor dying,
Walking in the fresh morning snow.

The crispy sound of his footsteps drives his thinking:
‘If I can’t see the road beneath my feet
what’s the point of walking?’

You see that’s the thing with fresh fallen snow.
The path ahead disappears to a simple rumor
and all you have left is the mark of your footsteps behind.

Recalling where you’re from
Imposing where you were!

And the tree can’t grow anymore with freshly teared roots.
It can only wait in hope
that some caring soul will carry his new life into better grounds.

Higher grounds!

That’s the story of this man.
A hopeful tree carried by a thoughtful lover.
Not knowing what’s to come next
but keeping an eye on the past revealing morning snow.

In hopes to reach this higher ground
and flourish for the first time.