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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required In the depths where the hounds of nonexistence bark, Vigilant guardians of silent eternity, On the land of somber undulation, the dogs of death howl relentlessly, They are the keepers of the secret in the tattered webs of time. I hear their deep cry and recognize their feeble sentence, Rainhearted, we cannot delay the ferocity of death. Even if we strive in vain to tame the fleeting passage, Enslaved by blind fate that leads us, pauses in nonexistence, I confess with a shame-burned cheek emerging from the depths, The greatest sin is not that we exist, but that we are not eternal. The dystopia of death with its outstretched arms encompasses heavy horizons, In the realm of silence where the spindle of light has never rolled, Under the humble earth, we shall entwine coolness in a night, Becoming amnesiacs to the thought that once animated us all. In the great abyss of nothingness, an uninvited shack lays its threshold, A refuge for souls that cannot withstand oblivion, There, with knots playing with thoughts, I bow in respect, In the labyrinth of silence, I kneel, making an altar out of the spark of a weary world. Towards the cycle that returns, where the threads of life and death intertwine, The warmth of a new beginning burns me in the tumultuous crucifixion that repeats, In the myth pulsating in the depths, where life becomes dying the moment it enters, After the forgotten universe lies, draped in yesterday's cloak over today. The copulation of worlds, that cruel game of ignorance, Childhood and old age mixed, the eternal tale, Constantly enveloping us in the cloak of false hope, I wander like forgotten dreams among memories that attempt to quench my thirst. I let the echoes of deaf death soar over the embers of silence, The poetics of a lost soul, the song of inkless passage. Time flies and takes shape in the chaos of estranged grandeur, Like an altar raised for the madness of unknown and unmarked gods to come. Yet the dogs of death howl with a crescendo that shakes my bones of history, Their tears reveal themselves like acid rain over dying and distant times, Under the weight of the earth, our sins prepare for solemn decay; We were born and live in a world where perhaps we shouldn't be.
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