La Fin de la Journée

It's cold, cold, cold here even though the sun seems to shine. I am tired of this place and I want to move on. My heart has stopped flailing and I am ready to spend the next few weeks doing nothing but sitting around and hoping to be amused. The joy he promised me has not arrived quite yet, but neither has the summer, really.

Three poems left. Weird.

The End of the Day
Under a pale light
Runs, dances and bends without reason
Life, imprudent and shrill.
Also, as soon as on the horizon

The voluptuous night rises,
Soothing all, even hunger,
Erasing all, even disgrace,
The Poet says to himself: “Finally!

My spirit, like my vertebra,
Passionately invokes rest;
Heart full of gloomy dreams,

I go lie down on my back
And roll myself in your curtains,
Oh refreshing darkness!”

La Fin de la Journée
Sous une lumière blafarde
Court, danse et se tord sans raison
La Vie, impudente et criarde.
Aussi, sitôt qu'à l'horizon

La nuit voluptueuse monte,
Apaisant tout, même la faim,
Effaçant tout, même la honte,
Le Poète se dit: «Enfin!

Mon esprit, comme mes vertèbres,
Invoque ardemment le repos;
Le coeur plein de songes funèbres,

Je vais me coucher sur le dos
Et me rouler dans vos rideaux,
Ô rafraîchissantes ténèbres!»
---
Not gonna lie, the soul left this project weeks or months ago but I don't care. It's morning in my mind and pretty much everywhere else for that matter.