When you sang, dreams croaked, then you ceased to be a volcano

When you sang, dreams croaked, then you ceased to be a volcano, It was simpler to become a rock, not letting yourself be unraveled by the waves of myopia. After seasons died in your arms, resigned to your cold might, You questioned if perhaps all flowers tear their petals in vain for you. You were left emptied of greenness, a vast void where echoes can't return, You've lost the appetite for light and horizons, a crownless tree in the purple twilight. Oh, how you wished to remain the same old fir, clutching a world of rays to your chest, But you let the day slip into night, you departed to become the leaf you await to fall. Nymphs in chorus called you to shout again, for the wind to blow in your blue day, But you stayed silent, and in your silence the tear of the sea extinguished in a fist of foam, You feared the equinox that doesn't come, the persistent remembrance of a song once drawn, And you feigned your existence into a white beginning of hibernation, like a silence before a revelation. Do you believe that once you bloomed, the storm can't break the branch that holds you? You stopped being the barbarian that made the echo in the mountain laugh at itself, And in exchange for smiles, a sad pass settled on your face, casting long shadows, An unanswered question that floats above you, a flight that no longer knows how to reach its destination. Ah, you’ve lost her, that fearless bird that used to scent the filters of your soul! You've ceased your word, halted the depth from caressing the root of the sky. You've forgotten the whirlwind that lifted you above the world, and now you search for meaning, You are a snail without a shell, feather without flight, a ripple without an ocean, a sky without a constellation. Is waking harder? Is oblivion gentler than the sweet pretext of remembrance? You wonder why the stars do not answer your indescribably late call, The road back seems too long now, legends speak of new beginnings, barren horizons. Slowly but surely, you lost it... in a pass of slippery fog over your world, Now you are the slave to your own echoes, seeking a mirror in me so you can breathe once more.