In the enchanted night, when the moon weaves its silver mantle

In the enchanted night, when the moon weaves its silver mantle, The insomniac wanders through the labyrinth of his arcane thoughts, His last refuge, a crystal castle of eternal consciousness, Rises above the sleeping world, a mystical beacon in the darkness. His gaze, a magic wand that splits the veil of night, Reveals secrets hidden in the scrolls of the sky, While others float on clouds of ephemeral dreams, He gathers falling stars, transforming them into an elixir of wisdom. The clock ticks, a pendulum of destiny suspended in time, Each second, a pearl in the necklace of infinity, For him, minutes are grimoires full of unspoken spells, In which he can weave the web of parallel realities. His superiority, an ivory tower amidst the cosmic storm, Rises ethereal, yet firm, in the face of hypnotic sleep waves, A magical illusion that nourishes his soul with divine nectar, Anchoring him in his realm of expanded consciousness. Through enchanted windows, he scrutinizes the world immersed in dreams, A solitary wizard of his eternal insomnia kingdom, Wondering if he might be the Supreme Dreamer, In an oneiric reality woven by his own magic. Thus passes the night, a dance of shadows and arcane lights, The insomniac, an alchemist of the secrets of profound darkness, Until dawn finds him, tired but enlightened, Wearing the invisible diadem of one who has conquered mortal sleep.