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Poem

Through the galleries of dreaming, where evening beads its somber pearls,
An echo of twilight suffocates discreetly across the plain towards eternal passing;
It floats, it floats over the velvet blackness seeking escape.
Ethereal sages, adorned with the silver of silence,
For their words did not shake the profound realm with comet darts, they
Reluctantly cast their shadow towards the pale star losing its gleam.
Brave ones of the setting time, in an epilogue heavy with longing for the lost morning,
Their shaken merits could frolic in the green pen of hope,
Cry out, cry out in the twilight of fascination that slumbers gently to a close.
Visions that have gathered and sung the turning of the day's sphere,
Have understood, as the hourglass flips, that their diligence slips into a sweet shadow,
Do not yield softly under the caress of the evening that drips.
Solemn entities, at the Rubicon of departure, signaling a mystery unveiled,
Ephemeral gazes could dance like shooting stars and wear the smile of life,
A charm, a charm against the dimming of light that timidly withdraws.
And you, patriarch of memory, lost upon the summit within the saddened sarcophagus of evergreens,
I implore you, now bind me with your crystalline tear the story.
Do not follow your course to the great silence that has unfurled its sails.
Dance, dance in the contradiction of the dark that swallows its own luminescence within.

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