In the depths of silence, I have never been able to offer you much, have I, solitary traveler
In the depths of silence, I have never been able to offer you much, have I, solitary traveler,
I cannot brew healing potions for the wounds and scars gathered like memories on your skin,
I cannot forge mighty swords to chase away the demons that set your soul ablaze,
I cannot weave shields against betrayals that touch you with arrows hidden under the night.
Yet, I want to offer you a night of dreams, where you can rest your cheek on my knee like on a pillow of stars,
where you can cry ugly until the tears become rivers that wash away the burden of past days,
where you can grieve until your heart fills with a comforting emptiness, a cold that quietly soothes the pain,
where you can roar until your echo becomes the song of the wind, carried far away into eternal forgetfulness.
I want to offer you hours of painless sleep, a sleep like a white canvas without shadows lurking in your dreams,
where the grime of the day does not cling under your nails and your eyelids are not heavy with fatigue but with peace,
perhaps it's just a dream, a grain of sand in the hourglass of time, but I know you will wake from it,
but isn’t that how we've survived so far, navigating through the dark waves of life?
How have we overcome the sweet scythe of our friend, the angel of death, until now, dancing among shadows?
We know it may never end, but let’s drink together, my little beast,
close your eyes for me, let the night be a veil over your weary thoughts,
I won't call you by name tonight, but dream with me, my survivor child, my beautiful beast.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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