In the labyrinth of dreams, where words are sculpted from silence
In the labyrinth of dreams, where words are sculpted from silence,
I often wonder why I don't dare to speak my truth.
How could it be so hard to let the heart flow,
When day by day I play with sounds, with rhymes, with metaphors?
Would it be enough for these words to reach her, to bloom?
I already know I will lose, that I will lose that silent battle,
Which demands her as a prize for my wandering soul.
And in losing, I will crush the last shred of hope,
That fragile glimmer, that false light I hold tightly,
Just so I can keep going, not to stop.
A frail reason for this soul to remain captive
In a tired body, until that moment arrives.
An old song rises from the depths, like an echo of desire,
And I let myself be carried by the flow of thoughts, by waves of melancholy,
Trying to understand why words cannot tip the balance,
Why silence is sometimes heavier than any burden of words.
In this world of shadows and hopes as fragile as butterfly wings,
I seek my balance on the thin thread of unfulfilled desire,
And in every moment, I hope to find the courage to say everything,
To let the heart speak, to sing, to love.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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