THE VANITIES OF SILENCE
We ruin our miserable lives chasing fleeting vanities.
No safe will ever be fastened to our hearse.
We fade away in the anonymity of insignificant noise.
We build empires of nightmares on the shores of oceans of scars.
Our dirty hands tremble, trying to hold back the clocks of time.
The mirrors of our pride lie, yet we love their deceit,
for they disguise our fears beneath reflections of success.
Hours vanish like ashes in the wind of our perdition,
and we forget to love while we learn to appear.
Our hearts become clocks without tick or tock,
regulated by ambition, emptied of all breath.
In the silence of our voiceless sufferings,
or in the pain of our wounds,
sometimes gleam the sparks of truth,
a fragment of eternity amid the clamor.
But we pass it by, in a hurry to exist,
as if life were nothing but a race toward the grave,
blind to the only treasure worth keeping,
the chaos we sow in others’ hearts to find peace.
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