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Poem

It's too late, beloved, for our dream shattered,
Under the night sky, chimeras have us buried,
Intoxicated with illusions, wrapped in cigarette perfume,
On deserted streets, we are shadows of dreams unfulfilled.
We're lost in the labyrinth of forgotten corners,
Us, wax figures melted in the moonlight,
Bodies scorched by the flame of silent incapabilities,
In this dance of forgetfulness, against an outdated backdrop.
Oh, times, oh, mores, what fate has been decreed?
In this vain search, what meaning have we let slip?
I look for you at dusk, I lose myself in wanderings,
We flail in the silence of an anachronistic time, with no way out.
Time runs, but to where, it no longer knows,
Its patience worn thin by our tribulations,
My abulia and passivity, will they yet endure?
Is there still room for a drop of romance, one last poem?
Too late for romance, too late for dreaming,
Too late for you, too late for me,
In this twilight, the ephemeral takes its leave,
For infinity, we remain unfinished, uncommenced.
Too early for hopes, too late for regrets,
In our own late hour, all seems lost,
Too late for new beginnings, too early for endings,
In this dance of fate, amor fati is our final chorus.
And so, in the silence of the night, we fade into the void,
Our love, a shattered dream, an echo of the past,
In this fleeting world, we remain just two strangers,
Lost in time, lost in ourselves, lost in everything.

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