Under the shadowed vault of time, where power flickers like a deceitful beacon
Under the shadowed vault of time, where power flickers like a deceitful beacon,
Authority tempts the shadows, alluring the lowest elements of our kind,
Throughout history, humanity has been shackled by the dregs of the world, slaves to its own decline,
They endure any indignity, commit any vile act, just to taste the nectar of dominion.
The world's wretched remnants boil in the potion of sovereignty,
Each government, a parliament of debauchery, profaning the virtue of the soul,
In the tragic mirror of democracy—whispers reveal that we wear their masks,
Desperate, we cling to the threads of authoritarianism, seeking release from anxieties.
In the abyss of thought, we dance on fragments of shattered dreams,
The narrative thread flows, a river of lost hopes,
Seeking liberation in promised power, blind to the hidden snares,
Captives in a labyrinth woven from our deepest vulnerabilities.
Eyes dimmed by uncertainty gaze towards fragile horizons,
Our hearts, fragile, beat under the weight of perpetual injustice,
We drift into the melancholic reverie of unfulfilled dreams,
Hoping that one day, truth will shatter the illusion we have built.
With arms stretched towards the pale stars of the night,
We find solace in shadows, seeking fragments of pure light,
Dreaming of a world where our slumbering souls awaken to freedom,
A story unwritten, etched with mystic melancholy upon the skies.
But until that dawn, in this realm of illusion and unchecked power,
We hold hands in the darkness, cherishing the fragility of our hearts,
Imagining a world where our unseen words unlock change,
In a mystical odyssey of poetry and healed souls, under the watchful stars.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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