I fed my pride by killing loves, seeking refuge in the cold of my gaze
I fed my pride by killing loves, seeking refuge in the cold of my gaze,
And I accept the sentence of winter that embraces my soul with icy claws,
A jester to many, an inspiration to few, I was an actor on the gods' stage,
I comported myself both fearfully and nobly, seeking a truth hidden among the stars.
I crawled on my belly, I flew through the sky, never asking for permission,
My dark side, with deadened mud, has always supported the white,
Those hungry for grace tore themselves away from me, without accepting the bitter cup,
It's in vain to be an angel or a well-paid devil, when elevation is my only decline.
Good for healing wounds, bad for being condemned, only I know the secret of each wrinkle,
Only I am accountable for how I've been wisely alone, happily foolish,
I waste time too easily and gather money too slowly, forgetting the cost of passing years,
Yet I always offer the coming years a home within my body, indiscriminately.
Only not to be asked by the hasty for any dues in exchange for the halo of a saint,
For I lack the state to change myself, nor to suddenly say no to love,
Too worldly while young, too caught in revelry, for the passing years to darken my nature,
In time, words will be found about who I was, good words, misunderstood meanings.
I carry my burden with silent pride, for only I know the price of each step,
A squanderer of love and time, I lose myself among memories like a traveler without a destination,
In a world that asks nothing more of me than to be myself, to love and to fall,
I remain a dreamer dancing on the edge of time, without regrets, without pause.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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