For the poet, the fall is the eternal mental season. The fall in love and the fall out of love. But the fall makes the flowers fall and vanish into ashes. For the poet therefore, there can be no flower of evil for there can be no flower that survives an eternal fall, an eternal love, an eternal oblivion. This poem is about a poet caught-up in old feelings.

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Remembering times of old

Souls that sold themselves for a shot of love

Tales too fantastic to be more than imaginary

Remembering times of old

These youthful and virgin girls I used to love

As if I knew the essence and quintessence of love

Remembering times of old

These are words and verses untold

That still today haunt my soul

As to thy love I with love I should have replied

This bold,…


Remembering times of old

The candid words and acts that hurt your soul

Coming from my lack of restrain

Coming from mine lack of refrain

I wished ‘t’was you and I always over all

If I meant her and her and her and her

But the heart, at least mine, has limited seats

To prevent my brain from being a haunted castle untold,…


Remembering times of old

And all my loves I left others abuse the souls

Tell me today whoever wherever you are please

Not to remember my limes of soul.

— Gilles-Fabien Dogbo


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