BaladeLa balade en moto pour le motard,C'est le tour de manège du moutardLe plein de sensations que l'on ressentEt être vivant juste dans l'instant©Laurent Roy 2017
Vides abyssauxIl est de ces vides abyssauxBien plus profonds que l'entre-deux eauxD'où l'on revient sans aucun espoirA force d'avoir trop vu le noir©Laurent Roy 2017
Living...Living is a torture to those who survived. ©Laurent Roy 2015
Vivre...Vivre est un supplice quand on a survécu. ©Laurent Roy 2015
L'usineL'usineOn entendait au loin,Le soir et le matin,Le clairon de l'usine.J'étais encore gamineQuand un jour résonnaDu côté du sana,La sirène ouvrière.Ce fut la fois dernière.L'usine d'autrefoisA perdu toute voix.J'étais enfant, c'est sûrMais ce fut pourtant dur.'J'ai connu ça aussi... Juste à coté de chez moi. quant j'avais une dizaine d'années.C'est devenu un but de promenade pendant quelques temps, pour les badauds du coin et les anciens ouvriers qui venaient avec leurs familles et leurs enfants pour leur montrer "l'Usine". Vite, presque clandestinement. Avant qu'on ne l'écroule. Avec un sentiment mêlé de nostalgie et de culpabilité non justifiée. "l'Usine" qui, dans la famille, était devenu un nom propre. Qui était presque un membre de la famille tant on prononçait son nom. Qui pour les plus petits n'était qu'un seul mot "lusine". L'usine dans laquelle ils a
HAIKU. Genre...On ne voit fondre que le premier flocon. ©Laurent Roy 2014
HAIKU. Sort of...One only sees the first flake melt. ©Laurent Roy 2014
ReconnaissanceHeureux ceux qui apprécient la reconnaissance de leur art pour la communion dont elle est le signe, et non pour le profit qu'ils peuvent en tirer.© Laurent Roy 2012
Mes doigts et ta peauMes doigts et ta peau se conjuguent au présent, au futur, et à l'impératif du verbe aimer.© Laurent Roy 2012
OC Meme*Copy this into your Meme..-Choose 10 of your OC's-Answer the questions-Then tag 3 people---184.108.40.206.220.127.116.11.9.10.---1.) 3, 7, 4, and 9 go ice skating. What happens?2.) Its Christmas!!! 5 throws a christmas party and invites three people of choice. Who does he/she invite? What happens?3.) 6 catches 2 dancing/singing to the 'spice girls'. What's 6's reaction?4.) 1 and 10 are stuck in a janitor's closet. How the crap did they get in there?5.) 4 confesses his/her love for 8. What happens?6.) 3 walks in to see 6 and 7 making out in 3's closet.. What is their reactions?7.) 9 and 5 have an argument that soon turns into a fist fight. How did it start? And How does 2 try to break it up?8.) 6 and 7 are getting married! But 8 is in love with 7. What does 8 do?9.) You here a knock on your door. You open it to see every one of your OC's bursting in to your home. What do you do?10.) 2 admits to you that he/she killed 9. What do you do?11.) Everyone gat
Angel LHair black and wildEyes with no sleepDark bags under your eyesLips that taste of sugarWings perking out of your slouching shouldersClean white long sleeve shirtLegs crouching in faded blue jeansNot a posture of an angelBut you are lovelyIn your own wayMy angel L
i can't promise you anything.i made a mistakewhen i told you that i could love youforever. i know now that the only thingi can know for certain is that nothingwill ever be certain again. we couldwake up tomorrow and feel somethingcompletely different. we could wake uptomorrow and be completely different.that's the exciting part. it's also thepart that makes it hard to even fall asleepin the first place.my heart attacksmy every whim and everyday is this whirlwindof terror and elation and i don't even knowwhere to end or begin or if this makes senseanymore, but the one thing i've come to realizeis the worst kind of lie will always be theones you don't even know you're telling. soi'd say i'm sorry, but i'd like to think youalready know. it's nothing worth repeating.nothing ever is.when i'm tiredi tend to miss you in an overwhelming sort of way just because i'm not strong enough to fightthese feelings full time. i'm more of a halfwaygirl, but there are a few things i fully understan
InsanityWhy hello there insanityLet me walk you 'round the floorIf you look off to your leftyou'll see the girl i was before.The tiles might be brokenBut its nothing time can't fixBut if you think its art-workThen all the broken parts will mix.And the doorknobs may not workBut you can crawl through like spiesThe holes you made with your fistAre looking just your size.The mirror in the hallwayHas seen some better daysAnd although you may see yourselfIt's not uncommon to also see haze.And the windows may be draftyBut i promise its not too coldAnd if you can deal with thatI'm sure that you'll be sold.And you see here in the closetThat the lightswitch doesn't workBut that only becauseThere are inner demons that lurk.The picture frames are emptyBut thats only an attempt to forgetAll the fun i once hadAnd the soul that I once bet.There's shattered glass in the bedroomFrom when you told it was goodbyeAnd i let the bird out of it's cageKnowing it would die.But the basem
for unseeing eyesladen with skywe stumbledand painted mockingbirdson loveless branchesfolding in our slender limbsand ducking under our ownvoices, fidgety and frailagainst the wall of night.between the dipping bladesand drawn shoulderswe learned to craft our wordssteady-soft,a drumming rainthat carved canyonsin open hearts anddrew the sunshine toour supping lips.keen-eyed, we watchedremembering the weightof unseeing eyesand scalding remarksand we learned to slipthe noose-knots and slidethrough the soul-cracksand somehowbuild kingdoms underupturned noses.with lyrical uncertaintyand tender determinationwe built a pyre of peacein the shadowsof dissonanceand watched it blazethe truth across ourpliant hearts.as solemnas new leaves still curledand stretching handsunfurled in suppliancewe lifted our headsin broken laughter,for this light is our burden,and even a whispercan shatter silenceand bring the blindto sight.
SuicideWhen I woke up,I expected you to be alive.I expected the end of your letterTo say something like,"I'm right behind you,You moron!"But that never happened.When I woke up,You were still dead.You aren't dead to me.You should be alive,You should be here with me!Where are you?Why did you leave?You didn't have to go!I would've cared for you!I would've rescued you!There are still people who love you!You didn't have to kill yourself!You didn't have to die.I can't believe you're dead.I can't believe you're dead.
the trouble isi'd like life to bequiet and lovelylike distant church-bellschiming through snow,muted by the smell ofan old book and thefeel of a fire warmingme into my chair, anda mug of tea, steepingthe moment in hushedgratitude, easily in reach.
It Has Come To My AttentionIt has come to my attentionthat people like meare generally not welcome in fairy tales.It's the talking birds that do it.The minute a sparrow shows up to pipe a direful warningit's all overdown at the first hurdledoneThe body in the fifty-fathom wellwill have to waitthe old woman turned into a harethe murdered mother in the juniper treeas I whip out my Sibley guide and look for the entrywith the fieldmark labeled capable of human speech.For this crimeI have been accused of a failure of wonderof having chained up my inner child and sent herto work in the salt mines.But the truth(if you really want to know)is that I have read too many fairy talesand lived a bit too longto be surprised by anything that happens inthe cottages of lonely woodcutters.I can even venture a guessto why the bear speaks with the voice of a maiden(my heart goes out to her)and why, when the animal has saved your life,you will be required to make a harp out of its bones.These are o
afghanistan doesn't exist.my disposable incomeis fed to the localpharmacy in exchangefor bright colouredlacquer, with rainbownames like 'bo peep'and 'gum bear'.how could you everfeel shame or guilt orsadness with a namelike 'candied violet' soadorning your carefullymanicured nails? how acocktail of 'coralicious'and 'tangerine queen'could make you feellike anything but aflamingo?i sleep in the tropicsin summer and inthe carnival in winterand it shows on mynails. i don't own black.or gray. would youadmit that your sweetdreams see the thingsyour waking hoursrefuse to? would youdare let it slip yourlips that he died outthere in your head?does the world needto know that you'reworried when he'sjoking? when he findsit... funny... that he'sgetting shot at in afaraway country? thatyou can't crumble intohis lap and clutch athis collar to pleasedon't go? that younever knew a soldier.i don't own sand colouror army khaki, or the greenpeculiarity of his eyes.because afghan
L'envolQu'on trouve à son plumage les plus beaux des refletsOu que son vol soit lourd et qu'on le trouve laidSon voyage innocent de tous ces jugementsL'éloigne à tout jamais de tous ces vains tourments©Laurent Roy 2017