In the hidden realm of forsaken souls
In the hidden realm of forsaken souls,
Where echoes of long-forgotten hopes fade,
I wander among dreams seeking their eternal place,
Beneath stars that seem to gossip about their cold neighbors.
Their intangible silhouettes, like leaves shaken by the wind,
Struggle in a world where smiles appear to be rented,
In the endless game of hide-and-seek between desire and reality,
They live their existence, with the regret of an irretrievable time they've missed.
I stand beside them, wrapped in their blanket of unheard sorrows,
And feel how the echoes of each ancient heart reverberate endlessly,
They whisper tales of lost love, of glory and ruination,
Souls sliding gently into the tide of oceans of melancholy.
The sky darkens, and the tired daylight goes to rest,
Amid the night's unrest, thoughts are torn between being and not wanting to be,
In the depths, fragile hopes tremble, each battle, every defeat,
Memories of a past which, like a river, has changed its course time and again, now lies cursed to wander alone.
The moon pierces their gaze with its inert silver rays,
Drawing upon the sea's floor transient and uncertain memories,
Vibrating with the vibration of the sky to catch a spark of luminescent wonder,
Their silent scream is a hymn for those who have loved, lived, but in the end, are absent.
The gate to the morning of another day seems a brick wall,
Lonely nights stretch out, oozing thoughts without rhyme,
With each breath, we find fleeting wings, shards of ephemeral freedom,
Yet somewhere amidst it all, we glimpse the hope of the self from yesteryear, even in these sleepwalking, ephemeral evenings.
And I, a shadow among shadows, have joined their tacit procession,
Listening to the heart as it sings a serenade for the nights in which I have dreamed,
In the rhythm of autumn rain, lamentation envelops, tightens around me, tirelessly,
Bringing with it the echo of a belated "farewell" that time has long awaited.
I lose myself in the length of this soiree, where each drop pulses with its own weight,
A tacit symphony, rhythmized by slides of emotions and unexpected silences,
In search of a tomorrow that doesn't reek of an unhealed yesterday,
I let my thoughts slip, to fall, until they themselves become the morning I once dreamed of.
Copyright © Dan Enache | Year Posted 2023
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