Every morning I open my soul like an old book
Every morning I open my soul like an old book,
where verses stretch wings of light over sleeping dreams,
poetry is a spell that turns my thoughts into golden butterflies,
dancing through air laden with mysteries and hidden desires.
I feel words flowing through my veins like a river of stars,
illuminating the forgotten realms of my heart in secret,
and my eyes become windows to worlds hidden in shadows,
where colors are born from the embrace of light and darkness.
Poetry sings in my ears a symphony of ancient whispers,
each sound a flower petal touching the silence,
embracing the eardrums with a fine silk touch,
turning silence into music and dreams into sweet reality.
My tongue tastes the words like forbidden fruits,
each metaphor is a drop of divine, enchanting nectar,
and my hands become sculptors shaping air into ideas,
building castles of clouds in the sky of the mind, in endless flight.
When I read poetry, I walk on a path of shining stars,
traveling through unseen yet familiar universes,
where each verse is a step toward a horizon of miracles,
and each rhyme is a rest, a moment of sublime dreaming.
Thus, poetry becomes an ocean of metaphors and senses,
a compact universe where I find wings of thought and light,
and in this infinity of words, I always discover
not just the reflection of the world, but also of my soul.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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