Under the shadowed vault of time, where power flickers like a deceptive beacon
Under the shadowed vault of time, where power flickers like a deceptive beacon,
Authority entices the shadows, drawing the basest elements of our kind,
Throughout history, humanity has been shackled by the dregs of the world, slaves to their own decay,
They endure any humiliation, commit any vile act, just to taste the nectar of domination.
The wretched remnants of the world boil in the potion of sovereignty,
Each government, a parliament of debauchery, defiling the soul's virtue,
In the tragic mirror of democracy—whispers reveal that we wear their masks,
Desperate, we cling to the threads of authoritarianism, seeking relief from anxieties.
In the abyss of thought, we dance on fragments of broken dreams,
The narrative flows, a river of lost hopes,
Seeking release in promised power, blind to hidden traps,
Captive in a labyrinth woven from our deepest vulnerabilities.
Eyes darkened by uncertainty gaze toward fragile horizons,
Our hearts, fragile, beat under the weight of perpetual injustice,
We drift into the melancholic reverie of unfulfilled dreams,
Hoping that one day, truth will shatter the illusion we have built.
With arms outstretched to the pale stars of the night,
We find solace in shadows, seeking fragments of pure light,
Dreaming of a world where our sleeping souls awaken to freedom,
An unwritten story, etched with mystic melancholy across the skies.
But until that dawn, in this realm of illusion and unchecked power,
We hold hands in the dark, cherishing the fragility of our hearts,
Imagining a world where our unseen words unlock change,
In a mystic odyssey of poetry and healed souls, under the watchful stars.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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