Prometheus
Time is fading
on the ocean's flow.
Through my window
I can see the maneuvers
of a burning night.
All the handles I invite
lost into the waves
of the full moon.
And I am forgetting
each name and direction.
In front of a figure's shapeless fault
beneath the show's sudden halt
I watch my mind's dim reflection.
Mirrors broken
before I see.
Traces lost
before I walk.
And I always knew
that Prometheus was not a God.
He was committed
to a truth that was untold
to a fire
that we could never hold.
Destiny flows in our veins
while time is fading still
forming absence on the wind
until vanity forgives us.
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