Deaf to My Inner Horizons

Deaf to my horizons; for the sounds I am called upon;

And for the time that collapses, I remain deaf.

Deaf to these sounds, unable to resolve into an aeon;

Caressing the darkness and leaving up expectations.

So shall the time pass, for my longing wonders,

As light fades away: what is expected after?

Burning stars, burdening desires: my anathemas;

Days of unfolding patterns, burning as magma.

 

Hunting answers, trying to escape my damnation;

For the time that collapses, I remain deaf.

How ought I to live by the same state of condition?

Murdering silence: Must I be to judgement brought?

For my unforgiving syllables and thoughts;

And for my yearning leading me astray;

Would I try to answer to that day ?

As I have not chosen to speak, I remain deaf.

 

How careful then, shall I live standing to my world,

For every secret of my heart, and the silence of my words?

Moving into the fate of my will, trying to forgive.

Nothing left; but an immutable desire to give;

Roses left in sand, and dust of thoughts cast in stone.

Numerous memories I am called upon,

Resemblance to trivia that seem long gone.

As my words become a spear that rive my bones.

 

As a glowing star that remain hidden from my eyes,

And for the dark veil that envelops thousand skies,

I can see this unfolding white gently showing through.

May it take ages to appear, and decades to travel;

I quietly sit: thinking of all my stories yet to tell.

Ought I become an open book, for a future to strew;

Or simply stay mute; contemplating my depictions:

Unable to see why I remain deaf to my inner horizons.

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