From the void of dispersions, the breath of my path was stolen without a whisper

From the void of dispersions, the breath of my path was stolen without a whisper, As if I were not worthy of any confession or even a drop of grace. Just as an unseen step over leaves does not disturb the serene sleep of the earth, Silent, I was left to lose myself in the restless echo of my own footsteps. A speck of dust over a bridge of memories melted into oblivion, When I volunteered my trust, knowing the ash that would follow. And just as unexpectedly, I was left to drift in a fireless wasteland. For now, the ash has returned sentinel, and in the brick of memory, still, it burns not, Nor any spark to make me embrace once more the flame welling from the depths. What a paradox, I feel anchored in the cold vestige of my being, rather than in sweet, deceiving masks, In the memories that once shielded me and now are a cradle of silence. Only in a corolla of stars, where time sighs veiled questions, Where torches of hope, the heart’s avenger, dispel the somber illusion. With steps through the ruins of dreaming, I wander under the immovable sky; The altars that burned now become altars of the void, with my soul begging thirstily for light. In this crypt of the soul, to sit is more sacred, Than in the ephemeral that once shimmered, wondrous and bright, but now, false and foreign, I reconcile with the silent remnants, whose every whisper and sigh I know.