METALANGUAGE

Allow me to pass by your side,
and I will tell you some truths,
truths you won't hear,
Ears closed,
brain censored,
a world of lies.

It's you and me in the world,
that world of cruel newspeak,
where they are offended by hearing the truths.
Where you listen to what's programmed,
the metalanguage of the fake,
that which sounds good.

Where they tell you,
many beautiful things,
the opposite of the truth.
If they say it's for your own good,
they're telling you it's for their own good,
a lot of empty words,
look at what the preachers do,
and you'll see that everything has stopped adding up.

If they **** you, they'll say it's for your own good,
that the planet is sinking because you're alive.
A world where darkness engulfs us,
where everything is eugenics, it's the right to die,
rights go down the stairs.
And you will be poorer and poorer,
don't listen, better close your eyes,
and then it will be too late
for you to live.

Lies,
everything is a lie,
they don't want you to think,
everything is bizarre, everything is a game,
a game of agendas to **** you.
In the name of freedom, they enslave you,
in the name of security, they will tie you up,
deaf, blind, programmed.

For everyone,
hollow brains,
don't complain,
if they **** you,
without you knowing it,
There is no one blinder,
more blind than one who doesn't know it,
in the name of science they will **** you,
agendas that are ***** games for everyone,
there is no one deafer than one who doesn't want to hear,
and there is no worse sick person than one who poisons themselves.

But you close your eyes and continue with your business,
because soon it's your final hour,
and you won't do anything,
inevitable.

Advance your clock,
it's time for the agendas,
that say one thing and do another.
And everything is nothing more than an endless lie,
in that world of the Great War of evil against everything.

In the name of what is correct, we won't go to hell,
a world where no one believes in anything,
bad times to be saved,
may God find us confessed.

Revealed times,
everything is discovered,
at the end of everything.

5-8-2025
www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJAPDbeLVNw&list=OLAK5uy_k0VCb9lS3eUMu0zUufucnX6iQ75eD9euI&index=6
Les Chevaliers Du Declin · Veronique Riviere

CHRONIC CRYOGENIC

Poor thoughts, that die with me,
a mortal with airs of eternity.
Pretentious vanity,
and all for what?
to be dust.
Enamored dust,
of my own dreams,
like a romantic poet,
outside of my own time.
Too much self-love,
I want to freeze everything,
I will preserve everything,
everything valuable.
I'll let myself rot,
but I'll freeze my words,
I want to cryogenize my thoughts.
Too much in love with myself,
not to think of saving the best,
the best, those thoughts.
Prose in verses,
of air.
I will be a priest,
and I will sacrifice myself for Art,
I will cryogenize my soul in poems.
I will write tirelessly, while I still breathe.
I will do alchemy and preserve my life,
in those philosophical words,
preserves of poems,
chronicles of life,
of my life.
I will be a sick man,
a chronically sick man of living,
until the end comes to everything.
I am a chronic cryogenic of eternity,
that eternity that does not exist on earth, nor is it possible.
I will clone my poems in you,
you will be a clone of my words,
they will absorb you and revive you when you read them.

Words from a cold heart when it lived.
Words in the networks, in books, in diaries, on paper,
to float beyond the death of a frozen soul.
Chronicles of someone hated and revered when they lived,
someone who left no one indifferent wherever they went,
who loved himself so much that he cryogenized his poems,
only to be forgotten, without any remedy.
No one can conquer death,
but there is always the illusion
of donating something valuable,
a poisoned gift,
to be read,
to be enjoyed,
or, to be hated.
Cryogenic,
chronic
of living,
perhaps,
maybe,
it could
be.

Dragnet

Today I've taken your net and I'll drag you,
to the world of poetry without muses,
without artifice, without deceit.
I will trap you and you will be you,
stop dreaming,
listen to yourself,
hear yourself,
once and for all,
and bring out the best,
the dazzling.

Stop running away,
and get in the mud,
that clay of a ***** life.
Flee from the day to day and go outside,
reach the ecstasy of your olympus,
transcend, aspire to so much more.
Stop thinking that everything is about rhyming,
stop the *******, and bring out the best,
forget everything you've learned and be real.

Stop that mocking laugh, for crying so much blinds you,
listen to your body, and tell what matters to you.
Tear up all your poems, and start over,
again and again, and reread your broken ones.
Fly beyond stoves and chairs,
bring out what you have so deep inside.

In your dragnet, search,
for that which you don't know is there
And just think, everything comes,
the poem is you,
the sublime.
Stop living a bad life,
and let everything flow,
in the small lies the great.

And one day your gray hairs will be snow
of poems in August, on horses of light,
that blind with so much beauty, in your final sun.
In the net of sea and sun, where the old will be reborn endlessly,
where beauty will begin again and again in endless poems.

Forget everything,
start anew,
strip yourself of the useless,
listen to your heart,
it will speak to you in verse,
and the snow will melt
into warm poems.
Seek the miracle,
of believing in yourself,
immerse yourself,
in the net,
of fishing,
unique poems,
to hang them wherever you want.

LUX


Lux.
Light,
lights,
measures,
illuminating,
measures of light.
Light as a luxury,
discovering the rays,
warm flows and cold flows,
corseting the light's rays,
measuring everything to infinity.

Poems of light that cannot be measured,
in the eyes, the light that unveils us,
new visions in natural light, or not.
In the sky's rays that cannot be grasped,
in solar storms, a volcano of light,
in the luxury of measuring the light that surrounds us.
Poems of light and darkness within you,
slipping lumens into your night,
sources of light in our lives,
it is the luxury of light,
that illuminates us,
in poems
sometimes.

Lights
of
art.
Lux,
luxuries,
lumen,
luminous,
­those lights,
flows of light,
that make us shine.
Perceived
radiation,
in life,
natural
or not,
just
light.
--
3-VIII-2025


---

LUX


Lux.

Luz,

luces,

medidas,

iluminando,

medidas de luz.

La luz como un lujo,

descubriendo los rayos,

Flujos cálidos y flujos fríos,

encorsetando los rayos de luz,

midiendo todo hasta el infinito.



Poemas de luz que no se miden,

en los ojos, la luz que nos desvela,  

nuevas miradas en la luz natural o no.

En los rayos de cielo que no se abarcan,

en las tormentas solares, un volcán de luz,

en el lujo de medir la luz que nos rodea.

Poemas de luz y de tinieblas en ti,

deslizando lúmenes en tu noche,

fuentes de luz en las vidas,

es el lujo de la luz,

que nos ilumina,

en poemas

a veces.



Luces

de

arte.

Lux,

lujos,

lumen,

luminoso,

esas luces,

flujos de luz,

que nos lucen.

Percibida

radiación,

en la vida,

naturales

o no,

solo

luz.

SENSATIONS

It's summer, full of hope, to have a good time,
in that torrid air that undresses us as we sleep.
Time to spend time with ourselves,
in that time of floating in the water of a full bathtub.
Luxurious details, whims that don't cost much yet,
small luxuries to pamper ourselves, with the luxury of time.
That time that always leaves without being able to catch it,
in the summer, where there are rays of the warm sun.
On those days to enjoy reading,
in my hermetic worlds,
leafing through and savoring
those books or poems,
stored away.
Time to open
books, letters or doors.
In that world that is paused,
in the August of another year, perhaps,
where each day is a gift.
Dreaming of beaches, with those wild islands,
dreaming between uncovered sheets,
in my dreamed African savanna,
in a very white house.
In my Paradise
I dream,
of incredible
days,
in my gray life,
with small luxuries.


My secret luxuries,
at home, without going out,
poor miseries,
of being very poor
and rich in dreams.
Between saving every day,
and dreaming without measure,
dreaming of living a little,
and just like that, the holidays are gone.
While I collect sensations,
when the winds caress me,
that world that has no price
Among the jungle of my little garden
among waters that fall on me.
Fountains that make me happy
those sensitive days,
that no one charges for,
and which are just that,
my secret
luxuries.
Sensation
of caressing,
the days and nights,
that something no one else
can afford.
Except for an outcast,
envied for being rich,
in emotions of the soul.
In a rich neighborhood,
one more poor person,
in his house,
envied,
for being
like that.

Ragpicker

Among life's ***** rags,
I walk like a ragpicker, rummaging,
cleaning life with rags and poems.
Poems that are sometimes soft and other times, not,
among the garments of life, among the clamor of living.
Among rags that help us clean even the soul,
and with clothes that turn us into disguised souls.
Rags to see that in the end, we are all worn-out rags.
I am a ragpicker of life, collecting rags and transforming them.
With my handkerchiefs, with my soft cloths among my discards,
rebuilding life in words, a ragpicker of poems.
Scorned by all and taking what no one wants,
in my sea where sometimes the waves are handkerchiefs,
those white rags, cloths of seawater.
Singing to the life that falls apart on me,
like old rags that are gone,
and are sometimes recycled.

HARD HEARTS


Hearts of sugar,
hard hearts,
of hard sugar.
Hardened,
hard souls,
enraged,
who tell themselves,
like syrup,
sweet lies.
They became hard,
deceived hearts,
that see themselves and don't see themselves.
In their own world,
indulgent souls,
unwilling to look,
benevolent,
embittered,
hypocritical,
deceived.
without criticizing themselves.
Without knowing how to see themselves,
self-satisfied,
souls ******* others,
they believe they are made of sugar,
and they are hard walls of sugar.
in their flawed mirrors.
Sweet glances for themselves,
in their distorted reflections,
sharp teeth with others,
double standards,
self-satisfied,
harsh judges
with others.
Hygroscopic hearts,
that **** up what's good,
and tell themselves they are good.




--

28-VII-2025