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Poem
In a realm of nebulous thoughts,
I often chase clouds with my eyes,
while they hurry along,
catching sunbeams sweet as honey in their gentle grasp;
they drape the sky like a divine story,
somber hues intertwining with sunny lace beyond immeasurable distances,
beyond unseen horizons,
weaving a vast celestial tapestry of mystery and magic.
As dawn turns into dusk,
daylight fades,
and echoes of the past march through my soul
like ghosts of long-gone times,
bringing with them longings and regrets,
memories and lost illusions.
Agony and fear flow deep through my veins,
and salty ink trickles down my cheeks,
commanding me to use them,
to engrave my pain with each drop of tear, with each drop of soul.
Under the darkened sky, emotions intertwine like invisible threads,
binding me in a cocoon of melancholy and mystery.
Unspoken stories float in the dense air,
each whisper a fragile breeze of memories,
each sigh a leaf carried by the cold autumn wind.
Tears of ink draw on paper maps of my wandering soul,
paths of pain and hope,
roads leading to nowhere and everywhere.
Nothing is more real than the moment when the night reveals its secrets,
and shadows dance on the walls of my mind like specters of a forgotten dream.
Words break free from me like dried leaves carried by the cold autumn wind,
seeking solace in their sad rustle,
in their symphony of melancholy.
And so, in the quiet darkness,
I write the story of my pain,
in a language only the heart can decipher,
a poetry of the soul, a symphony of melancholy,
wrapped in the mystery of running clouds and lost sunbeams,
a story of suffering and hope, of light and darkness.
In the silent abyss of dusk,
I find a world where ethereal whispers intertwine with the veil of twilight,
where mystical visions bloom like celestial flowers,
each petal a fragment of an ancient riddle,
each flower a mystery unfathomable.
The cosmos breathes in enigmatic rhythms,
its secrets woven into the fabric of existence,
and I, a mere mortal, lose myself in its eternal dance.
The stars, like oracles, cast cryptic shadows on the tapestry of my dreams,
and in their silent discourse, I unravel the whispers of forgotten realms,
echoes of long-gone times.
The night, a sacred veil, unveils the hidden symphony of the universe,
each note a pulse of esoteric truth,
each sound a key to secret understandings.
In this mystical reverie, I become one with the cosmic dance,
a floating soul in the esoteric currents of time and space,
where each sigh of wind and each flicker of star
is a verse in the great arcane poem of existence,
an endless story of light and darkness,
of life and death, of mystery and revelation.
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