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Under the tattered cloak of the past night
Under the tattered cloak of the past night,
I awoke as a traveler in the shadow of a compassless vessel,
Navigating the black river of an unknown destiny.
And behold, I suddenly got lost
In a chorus of voiceless echoes,
Whose devastating chords
Became the canvas on which the mourning of immeasurable loss is woven,
Where I learned to weave endless tears and carve traces of pain into my soul,
Aware that this symphony of sorrow will always weigh unsaid.
It will perish with me, an echo in the bowels of oblivion,
Passing through my heart like sparks of vibrant glass,
Leaving scars of memories that will never heal.
The path does not turn back, the gates of the past do not reopen,
Only that perpetual yearning,
A lake of solitude where no star reflects,
Where the lonely ones drink only the shattering of dreams.
And yet...
We watch them fall, soft leaves in the wind of silence,
We weep for them like companions sinking into the abyss,
And we reach out our hands to catch their final breaths,
Illusions that seem to fade like stars at dawn.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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