Breakfast2 mins 207 2 mins 207
The desecration of the night,
That is done willingly
By the morning sun,
Uncovers people without silver spoons
Shining a light on their social victory
Somewhere in the Northern France.
And what cannot pe found
Is hidden from eyes
The maid kept the spoon well throughout the night
For the young one to be pleased with the taste
Of the harvesting work done by servants of the sun
And worshippers of the night,
To grow up to be
Just like his father.
She moves the door,
Never so carefully,
As if not to disturb the walls
Nor the guest's presence
That the air spreads from side to side of the room.
Adults seem seem to have grown their feet
Only to reach the ground on their own,
For the ground to take a better grasp of them.
And earth seems to darken as the time passes
And the sun falls more and more in love with its creation.
Humanly figures molded from the earth
All wonder through the same space and time
And they are put together in a room only for their eyes to discover
They all look the same.
So they wear suffering as a cloth
Only to appear as a guest
Looking for the same pain in
Someone else's eyes as theirs.
They groom houses and people
To learn the way of living of those who they serve
Alike a maid.
They learn to look only one person in the eyes
For the rest of their life
To hunt for new souls
And concerns ;
Like a young mother.
They watch the world
Bathing in bright wishes and blue
To learn how to grow up.
Through papers, bread
And drinks .
There is the presence of many others
Who are represented by their hands and work .
All of this can be witnessed, written carefully in colours and seen
In only one painting .