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Poem

Love is all that remains within me,
A lonely torch burning in the crypt of oblivion,
A heart mocking the times, a soul at war with silences,
Lost in a canvas of shattered illusions,
Poor love, you chew on the sorrow of stifled screams.
On the unknown path to the stars, arms reach out to the absent sun,
Hands that clutch only echoes and indecipherable seasons,
A love vibrating in crystal, a love planted in eternity,
Which unfurls evermore in the sullen petals of a deep blue.
I cast my love into a shoreless sea,
Where alone, in the caravel of emptiness, I navigate through labyrinths of smoke,
In the generosity of giving, I dissipate,
Remaining with the oases of silence in the desert of memory.
My chest—a chronicle of hidden scars,
A fresco painted in the hues of misunderstanding and defiance,
But more honorable for me to wear the frost than for my beloved to shiver,
Me—the shield, the keeper of pain in the catacombs of the heart.
I mourn the self with whom I once freely capered,
A dream overshadowed, a faith half-demised,
Yet, I offer myself wholly, without remainder,
An alchemist of love, turning pain into monasteries of light.
So take, take from me what tempts you,
A bouquet of love, a heart that still
Lives the legend of hope, the tender dance of beauty that does not perish,
Though, in the end, I am merely the hollow tomb between heartbeats.
I give my being, my breath, my concluded substance,
To watch it slowly collapse into the vastness of pain,
And still, in the black abyss, a timid flame persists,
A flame of love that writes—invisible—the uninterrupted symphony of existence.

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