And thus ends my story
Its final word written in print
There are no heroes
Just puppets trying to blink
Here in this chaos
We fight for a small space to be
But there is no starlight
Just the glimpse of our own misery
Constellation… of the difficult
Constellation… of the violent
Constellation… of the separate
Constellation… of the inanimate
Ah, but are we not matter
So small, but part of it – still?
Oh, but did we not matter
If the universe ever stood still?
An unconscious memory
A spirit in the rock and the leaves
This is my consolation
This is what I believe…
Consolation… of the difficult
Consolation… of the violent
Consolation… of the separate
Consolation… of the inanimate

SOUMETTRE LES CORRECTIONS