vendredi 26 décembre 2008


They are sons of the light,
And dream in black and white
Of the azure ; they were born Brothers
In humanity. And nevertheless,
Some work on the wear
Their fellow men, really kill the time ;
Their pursuit of the sure values
Ends in funerals.

Around them everything collapses ;
They follow the bad companions ;
If they refuse that they guess
The angels change in devils.

They give in to the cowardly robberies,
To the appeal of the vanity,
To the temptation murder,
Change their tools in choppers.

Others are thirsty of justice,
And put back without growing tired,
On their place in the building,
Their work on the loom.

They are looking for the best of ours,
Over the abyss and the night ;
The spirit connects them one to another ;
Everything collects them, unites them.

They stay sick at heart,
Near the man with one’s righteous fight,
On Master Hiram’s grave,
Where already grows the acacia.

They go to someone’s assistance ; the loved Being
Of the centres of life, consciousness,
Is reborn more radiant than ever,
Makes above all the silence.

They sound the space, fill up
Answers which predestine them
To go hand in hand
The way of the divine life.

They change words, language ;
The breath of the wind takes them
Where the words of the wise men
Never become dead letters.

The compass holds our future
Between its points tightened,
What we did not know how to discover,
What we chose to ignore.

The slightest of the specks of dust
Which passes by in the hourglass
Goes farther, in the cave of the mysteries,
Than the plumb line of the thoughts.

The nave of stony vessels
Found its identity,
From its first measure,
At the level of a carried shade.

The stick crosses the sword in the set square
In a point for which intends itself
The full vision by flashes of lighting
Which guides us, determines us.

The gemstone included in the earth,
Became the cut stone,
With extraordinary polished,
Remains an unfinished work.

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