THE JOYFUL MOONLIGHT
THE JOYFUL MOONLIGHT
A mournful atmosphere bleeds like a wound without a cure or name,
The sorrowful storks weep without end in the silence of a sky of molten lead,
Unwavering melancholy destroys them like a wave that washes stones away,
And I love them day and night covering them with my lips instead.
The green sun burns like a scarlet fury in the heavy and eerie sky,
The wild red rose whispers truths that no one around will ever hear,
The iron light has written its destiny in dark and heavy seas,
Like a condemned man signing his own cruel sentence in blood and fear.
The wonders are not bleeding enough to gaze upon the glorious sunset,
Not ripe enough to sacrifice the nostalgic memories we still carry,
Although the fierce light breaks these golden chains across a beautiful field,
A deafening silence remains over everything, cold and solitary.
The gray dawn stares hard at the tearful and exhausted sunbeam,
Like two old strangers who recognize each other after a lifetime of goodbyes,
The dripping light is always a blazing bliss of eternity burning deep,
And the heterogeneous darkness is entombed in a wild sea of poems and cries.
We are the ray and the darkness and the rose and the dawn together in chaos,
We are the iron light that writes its destiny in gloomy and restless seas,
And the joyful moon drifts above it all like a beautiful and weightless echo,
Over our nostalgic memories deeply and sweetly buried in what used to be.
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