“To be or not to be…”
Words as old as the sea

Words as these cross my mind
Whose meanings I can’t find

I question why I am here
Why I’m in constant fear

I might become the past
        Whose presence went quite fast

I might appear today
Hours, days,…I can’t say

I might come tomorrow
       One, two, three…in a row

I’m kept in a place
   So cold against my face

I am brought out to light
       To a job colored white

  I’m rubbed against a zone
       Onto which words were blown

I bear with you the pain
       Which you’ve caused on my lane

I am shattered in bits
That fly off as one hits

  My remains fill the room
       To be cleaned with a broom