In the secret hideaways of my mind, where the shadows of thoughts dance their play
In the secret hideaways of my mind, where the shadows of thoughts dance their play,
I see you as a forbidden verse, a stanza from a tome lost in time,
Inscribed with words that, when read, awaken no emotion,
For they are completely devoid of life, a barren landscape,
With no sense of home, no whisper of belonging.
You are the poetry that always slips through my fingers,
A spectral mist I can never possess,
Verses that leave the heart ensnared in a mystery,
A labyrinth of whispers, echoing an unknown history.
You would be the kind of poetry that people find impenetrable,
An enigma written by an extraterrestrial hand,
Or perhaps by a person whose soul has frozen,
Confusing and enigmatic, like a coded message from the stars.
In the flow of my consciousness, your image forms,
Like heavy clouds on the horizon of a silent storm,
Enveloping me in a profound sense of loss,
A deep and mystical melancholy that defies reason.
I imagine you as poetry that defies understanding,
A puzzle of words, each piece a miniature universe,
An enigma that both attracts and repels me,
A labyrinth whose exit I will never find.
You are the poetry that makes me feel isolated,
A wanderer in a land of foreign dreams,
Where each verse is a path to the unknown,
And each stanza a whisper from a forgotten past.
And yet, in this confusion and hidden meanings,
I find a unique beauty, a mystical attraction,
A melancholic magic that holds me captive,
In a world of words where you reign as the queen of mysteries,
A poetry I will never fully understand,
But will always love with a silent, unwavering intensity.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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