Count the thoughts.
Count the flowers that are wilting.
Admire the natural work
Of the sink of life
That empties itself of all substance.
Watch death surround you
Turn around you who flee.
Undergo without speaking this malleable climb
From which comes the ascent that leads to the heavens.
Climb with him and plant again
This life that you miss
And that you miss, that you miss
Who a little more with each oblivion
Despairs of your vain presence.

Benjamin Charles

Photographe, réalisateur, consultant social media & content

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