In the whispering embrace of twilight

In the whispering embrace of twilight, Where shadows hang like forgotten whispers, A man stands, fully aware of his mystical powers, His heart a vessel of dreams, his soul a tapestry of forgotten constellations. He is a poet, unshackled from daily struggles, A traitor to the human race, they say, For he has stepped beyond the rhythm of ordinary life, Transmuting his real experience into spiritual equations, His essence now a symphony of unspoken truths. The world, a fleeting mosaic, continues its ceaseless dance, But he, in his ethereal solitude, has found a different rhythm, A melody heard only by the stars, carried by the winds. In his mind, a river of consciousness flows, unrestrained, Each thought a ripple in the vast ocean of existence. He wanders through the valley of dreams, where shadows converse with light, Where every leaf is a poem, and every breeze a song. The mountains whisper the secrets of the universe, And the rivers murmur tales from ancient times. He ceases his struggle with the tangible, For he has become a wanderer in the realms of the unseen, A weaver of metaphors, a conjurer of timeless verses. In his solitude, he finds the company of forgotten gods, And in his silence, he hears the echoes of eternity. His destiny is a path of luminous solitude, A journey through the labyrinth of his own soul, Where each turn is a revelation, and each step a pilgrimage. He is no longer a mere man, but a vessel of the infinite, A poet, forever out of step with the rest of humanity, Yet always in harmony with the eternal song of the cosmos. And so, in the twilight hour, when the world retreats into slumber, He stands alone, a beacon of mystical melancholy, Casting his verses into the winds of time, Each word a star, each line a constellation, Etching his soul upon the canvas of eternity.