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Poem

I was a child of solitude, a phantom among games and echoes,
And my heart beat in rhythm with the hidden signs of the infinite.
I remain now an old alien fortress, atop a forgotten hill,
Holder of truths that defy the emptiness which the crowds do not perceive.
I weave my cloak from the silk of silence, laden with murmurs that cannot be spoken,
I am the guardian of the elevated dawns, knower of the song of the stars unpenetrated.
My soul, an abode of lunar bones, echoes a desolate dance,
I measure the space between thought and sound in a moment losing its resonance.
I carry within me the abandoned whirlpool that separates worlds,
My language is a thread of silver lost in the delusion of the sky's fabric.
Others take shelter beneath words and gestures, in an eternal hustle,
While I reveal myself in the whisper of starry nights, a silent corridor to requiem.
Solitude envelops me like a breeze that passes unnoticed,
Yet bearing within the seeds of arcane stories, scattered to be sown.
I am a stranger with a face hidden in the thicket of unanswered questions,
With roots deeply inoculated in the mysticism of the unnamed earth.
To know might mean to walk on the moon's paths, alone in the silvery light,
While worldly shadows dance, immune to the deep waters they defy.
Watching from my altered shore, wisdom becomes an eternal burden,
And in the secret spring of light, you are a sharp ray slicing through the darkness so cherished.

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