And the way I love is a sin in itself, a dance of shadows
And the way I love is a sin in itself, a dance of shadows,
but who will stop me? I have committed no injustice, no theft of light.
Sinners sin, just as the sun pours warmth over the earth,
it is not a choice, but a thread in the fabric of nature, a melody that echoes endlessly.
Illusion? Please, I am the supreme illusion, the paradox walking, dressed in truth,
dragging shadows through the light, leaving traces of dreams in the dense air.
I kiss with lips soaked in sweet poison, yet my heart bleeds purity,
I am not made to be tamed, nor meant to be healed by the art of silence.
They pray for my silence, but I roar in metaphors, a hymn of the damned,
with petals for scars, a garden of words that blooms in the dark.
And the sinner? Again in agony, because I dared to sin, to breathe.
But who will tell them the truth buried deep within me?
That I am the one who is not the curse, but the wound, not the blade, but the blood that blooms.
And I will also be the victim, bearing the burden of my own truth,
a soul struggling between light and shadow, between love and loss.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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