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Poem

In the city of silence, shadows dance slowly,
The garden of forgetfulness hides a secret lowly,
Dreams are born in minds that no longer believe,
People pass by, lost in thoughts that deceive.
Tolerance is the virtue of those without faith,
But how to believe when all fades to wraith?
On the pathways of conscience, I tread with care,
Deciphering voices lost in shadow's lair.
It's not the evils named evil we dispute,
But the forgivable ones, we often refute.
The world's a stage, playing roles unguessed,
Lines spoken without feeling, unconfessed.
In the garden's melancholic magic, I find anew,
Another truth I often dream to pursue.
Whispers of wind carry memories of yore,
The living flame of hope that endures evermore.
In the stream of consciousness, I let myself drift,
Between dream and reality, in the rift,
Seeking the light lost in unspoken queries,
On the wings of thought, to faded answers and theories.

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