In the quiet aurora, where no whisper builds awakening
In the quiet aurora, where no whisper builds awakening,
No expecting arm to scatter the veil of nights that naturally flee.
Is it the embrace of the ether or the mystery of the wasteland being sifted?
In this standalone realm, voiceless questions are lost in reverie.
I'd step into the aged decor of a universe not confined by paths,
Dimensions tirelessly weaving garments of the spirit for the unshod.
To shed the old monopoly of the ephemeral, to slip from the rank,
For in this estranged cosmos, I am an effect of magic, without a front.
Fear is but a sly dance among palaces of shade,
The heights, the marine abysses, the royal marks of boundless venture.
Blindness and flights and walls of mist, that enchain solitudes,
Yet the deeper fears, a hidden cathedral, where only the acrobat thought dares to decipher.
Fleeting fears bear witness on the silent shelf of the cosmos,
A mystical circle where you're implored not to gaze into the abyss of my essence.
Beneath the mask of laughter, the tragicomedies of a sober soul hide,
Seeking the eternal, seeking the depth, not in vain, but in the joint of sacred paradox.
In this living tableau, filigreed stories of freedom unfurl,
And loneliness, a dance partner, in whirls of soul and being.
I build in madness a celestial pavilion, a world where discernment is wrapped in the new,
In a sidereal ballet, you're invited to explore also the oases of holy ecstasy and to submerge yourself in their prolonged echo.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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