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The sun withdraws gently, a charmingly shy figure,
Upon the eyelashes of the expanse, a longing rests.
The clouds, abandoned poets with dreams dry on their temples,
Fall, like leaves of the sky, on the cheeks of turned silence.
The muted wind, trickles into views of twilight,
A silent spectator to the day's caprices that extend grimly.
And the rain, locked slowly in sluggish silver chains,
Remains a prisoner of the nights, in a hidden stable without a word.
The dream deserved lifts me over time, over ancestral portals,
My journey begins beneath archways of celestial stories,
The wings given to me, I believe, are as white as the first snow,
And it suits me so well, to tread on the tracks of the earth that breathes in the morning.
Among the droplets of sun trickling down, sky's demiurges dance,
In flight through the ether, where life and death, drawing, caress, embrace.
The world's book wide open, with letters parted into words and signs,
Stands like a fountain of meanings, all noble, all proud.
With that essence of being that screams and calls for me,
To forget life, for it has all been like a vagrant ray,
Dawn emerges from the dense night, weaving treasures of whispers,
Misunderstandings lost in words, of a mystery too often dreamed.
From sleep I awake, in the folds of a new day I wrap,
My temples clenched by mysteries, by thoughts and by clouds.
The sun pours the last ray on the ashening page abandoned,
In the faded light, iron beats on hearts, on words, and on unwritten myths.
And the grass lets its dew dry, from the skin of the rich nights,
The pages of life become cobwebbed with memories warmed in gold and silver.
Madness, the beautiful gatekeeper of stone dreams that lurk,
Watches as the rain of the world, in leaden shackles, awaits its sentence to overturn.

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