Secluded lands and mirage of hopes, delving into eternal fabrics of my mind.

Resonance of words, imprint of time and chimeras long gone.

Light travels and I wonder….does time exist? For this reality made of sounds, and for these spaces made of interpersonal interpretations; would my echo resonate within these skyward dreams?

He who sees…senses; he who senses…feels; for the layers of my participation that no longer works when; out of my despair, I say to myself “look backward and try again”.

Light echoes, for my stars to shine through: there is this eternal wobbling manifest.

Because I looked backward; and because I tried again, light echoes are no longer: silver and gold, love and hate, hope and despair; beyond veils of my comprehension; and beyond my syntactical dichotomies…what’s left?

Human as I am, thinker and daydreamer poet; renaissance in my words for dusts in your clouds. For who thinks; and for who sees, no longer blind…what’s left?  Nothing. Nothing really.

It is my show, lost in my universe: no one else but me. What is being withheld from me, but my echoes; Whitman echoes …

“Only themselves understand themselves, and the like of themselves,

As Souls only understand Souls.”

Another day passes by, for my birds and these bits of paradise; shimmering lights and smooth textures I can feel.  Which way to approach this eternal void, this thirst for meaningfulness? My small stuff for these big thoughts. As hard as I try, gestures no longer work, poses and chorus no longer fit my old models: would time accept to be taken, and to properly be used? Could I make it feeling compelled to act towards my self-union? Burning inferno of my passions set me condemned: to be, to remain, to be-come.

As departure rings in, I can hear and touch this void. Now is the time to let go, time for letting go, time that left…gone, gone for a long time.

Dark emptiness all around, and silent sounds I can see in this deep space. Matter being less tangible, words becoming heavier and  the self becoming what it beheld: quite a strange dream. Waking up no longer works, pinching no longer suffices; as words condemned me; I was held accountable for these metaphors I once contemplated.

I said to myself: “look backward and try again”. Eternal voids: see; now is the time to let go.