In a world of dreams, where hope vanishes into nothingness

In a world of dreams, where hope vanishes into nothingness, Life is a drunken beggar, holding out its hand towards its own shadow, phantasms of illusions passing through its troubled mind, like a sea of shadows crashing over cliffs of old memories, a grave of unfulfilled desires, crucified on the cross of oblivion. Sleep is the shadow of death, but not only that, it is a breeze of sweet forgetfulness, a balm for the soul wounded by existence, a fold of tranquility, where I will completely lose myself, dissolved into nothingness, healed from the pain of being, like a leaf carried by the autumn wind, detached from its branch, falling gently, without noise, into the silence of eternity. Dreams blend with reality, a labyrinth of thoughts and feelings, a river of images flowing ceaselessly, washing the shores of the soul, where the drunken beggar continues to wander, seeking a lost light, a hope that disintegrates in his trembling palms, like sand in an hourglass, and the night, with its black mantle, envelops everything in a sweet forgetfulness. When I depart, completely lost and gone, a faded echo in the vastness of time, I will melt into the silence of infinity, a point of light in the ocean of darkness, leaving behind the pain of being, like a shadow disappearing in the morning light, and life, that drunken beggar, will continue to wander in search of the lost dream, in a world of phantasms, where hope vanishes into nothingness.