Below the veil of twilight, memories sway in the moon's oaring
Below the veil of twilight, memories sway in the moon's oaring,
Effigies of the departed rise like incense smoke amongst ruins.
They have sprinkled us with pale dreams, and now, flowers of forgetfulness in the yard,
Whisper silver epitaphs on the wall of the mind, like a gentle incantation.
Their vestiges, constellations of gestures, spin in my universe,
Forming a firmament of moments that beyond eternity have not set.
Echoes of shared laughter fold into the curtain of the evening,
And embraces, like arched bridges between two universes, end in mystery.
They sowed habits, a mosaic of aromas in the blooming garden of my soul,
Which in depths, strange and impenetrable, have yet to know the abyss of oblivion.
In a hush, they speak, sweet phantoms, in chambers where their shadow still lies,
Chambers where the echoes of their steps lay down a leaf-carpeted corridor in a palace of silence and peace.
In life's testament, we note with pen moments and belongings, thoughts, and dreams,
But in the tapestry of fingerprints we share lies the true value of chosen wisdoms.
We write upon the canvas of the universe with the unstained finger of fate,
For in our essence, in the blood that has blossomed, remains forever the same ennobled signature.
And thus, on our path along the silver thread of existence,
Our stellar gazes captured in a portal to endless other dimensions,
We sing with the voice of nature, in that song of eternal truth, unswerving,
Our sound, a whisper of wind in the evergreen foliage, bearer of old and new deeds of kindness.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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