The Penumbra of Thought
The Penumbra of Thought
The penumbra of thought that breaks its feather of phosphorescent lead,
The page that mirrors my gaze of incendiary maple and transparent iron,
The ivy of blooming ash grows through my bones of crystal shattered,
Pink irises call me to free them from their oriental prison cell.
To be your anchor that floats in the solidified storm of light burning,
A sweet migraine assaulting the sanctuary where time unravels and congeals,
My skull cracks under the burden of cares that sing in silenzio mute,
Verses of macerator crown me on the shore that disappears when I touch it.
My arms adorned with wounds of silk and flowing metal merged,
My vision dissolves in the opaque clarity of forgetting that remembers,
The colors merge in their absolute and frigid separation cold,
To break my fingers and throw them in the interior and closed cosmos.
The room fills with hot blue that freezes in cold flames burning,
The flaming sun freezes my veins with its glacial warmth flowing,
Waves of metal and liquid heat through my blood of stone solid,
I cannot burn in the ice that consumes me with its dead flame alive.
The funeral cart carries me living through the labyrinth where all stands still,
The pencil's eraser begins to illuminate drawing the darkness bright,
The skin becomes diaphanous like the opaque walls of my transparency clear,
I am nobody full of everyone, nothing that contains the empty and full universe.
Only drawings of blind eyes that see and the light of the extinguished candle,
That shows me the path through the solar night of the morning without dawn.
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