Dan Enache Poet Free verse

Weary Eternity of the Blind Seer

Weary Eternity of the Blind Seer

I am weary of endless like a pilgrim climbing mountains of time,
to your blind seen one who gazes through velvet of blue mist,
the crime for which I was born is the love that burns forever,
let it not die like the flower your love always virgin pure.
I baptized my sorrow with tears of silver azure that floats,
with tears of cream that flow like rivers of milk from eyes,
your smile hums like an ancient melody on lips of honey,
that we may be to each other the echo that answers in deep valleys.
To life giving at the end my morgue of weary mortal man,
who breathes the last days like flowers plucked from garden,
I will die gathering flowers like a gardener who collects spring,
the springs I shall undress them all like shirts of light.
Words rustling like leaves of the present that passes like wind,
to the god hidden in your shadow set like an autumn sun,
after your icon painted with brushes of dreams noble lady,
of Autumn who shakes golden leaves on the carpet of soft earth.
To death definitive rest like a falling asleep in pillows of heavy fog,
to the dissolution of our being in the chaos that calls us toward new paths,
I am weary of endless like a tree that bears heavy fruits,
to your blind seen one who gazes through curtains of transparent dream.
The crime for which I was born is the love that doesn't die,
let it not die like the flames your love always virgin alive,
I baptized my sorrow with sacred tears azure of the sky above,
with tears of cream that fall like drops of dew in morning.
Your smile hums like a crystal bell in the warm wind,
that we may be to each other the echo that returns through forests,
to life giving at the end the morgue of mortal man who rests,
I will die gathering flowers from the hidden gardens of spring.
The springs I shall undress them all like gifts of light,
words rustling like silk of the present that flows through fingers,
to the god hidden in the temple of your soul set in glory,
after your icon painted with gold noble lady of eternal Autumn.
To death deep rest like sleep in blankets of dried leaves,
to the dissolution of our being in the chaos that transforms us into stars,
I am weary of endless like a traveler on long roads,
to your blind seen one who gazes through windows of magic crystal.
The crime is the love for which I was born into the world,
let it not die like the tree your love always virgin young,
the sorrow baptized with tears azure that floats like a blue cloud,
the smile hums like music that we may be the echo that resonates in mountains.
The morgue of mortal man who gathers flowers from fields of dream,
the springs undressed like curtains of light that fall on earth,
words rustling to the present to the god hidden in sacred shadow,
after the icon of the noble lady of Autumn who shakes leaves of gold.

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